


Damaged Bridges

by Gandalfs_Beard



Series: Damaged Bridges: the Clean and the Steamy Versions [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Harry, F/M, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 137,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfs_Beard/pseuds/Gandalfs_Beard
Summary: Finally, proof that Malfoy is up to no good, but why is Hermione hanging all over McLaggen when a short while earlier she had been trying to get away from him? And why is it making Harry angrier than he thought it would?Trigger Warning.





	1. Damaged Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes inspiration comes from the strangest sources. This one came from a couple of different discussions I've had recently online. 
> 
> The story takes place during sixth year, at the tail end of Slughorn's party, just after Harry spies on Draco and Snape. Certain issues which may occur to you in the opening chapter will be resolved in following chapters.
> 
> The story deals with some serious, potentially triggering themes.
> 
> A few chapters featuring consensual acts will eventually become available in an explicit version in my Works, but no non-consensual acts will be depicted in any graphic detail.

Harry couldn’t believe it - finally, confirmation of all of his worst fears. Malfoy was involved in some shady mission for Voldemort and Snape had offered to help him. His heart still thumping wildly against his ribcage, and his thoughts racing, Harry almost didn’t notice McLaggen slipping away from Slughorn’s party with a beautiful girl on his arm.

It took Harry a moment to register what he was seeing. What on earth was Hermione doing with McLaggen, laughing and giggling, hanging all over him, when not ten minutes ago she had been trying to escape McLaggen’s squid-like clutches? 

Harry chewed his lower lip pensively, his excitement about finally having proof that Malfoy and Snape were up to no good evaporating when he saw the smug expression on McLaggen’s face. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually, Hermione,” McLaggen chortled as he led Hermione down the passageway. “Not that there was much choice, really...”

“I know,” Hermione giggled, sounding very unlike herself, and much more like Lavender. “I don’t know what I _ever_ saw in Ron. And Harry... he’ll never see me as more than just a friend, no matter how long I wait for him to figure out that I like him. Besides, he likes Ginny... ”

“Too bad for Potter and Weasley then...” McLaggen let out another bark of laughter. 

Hermione giggled again and stumbled. Cormac caught her before she fell to the stone floor of the corridor. 

“Careful Hermione... We won’t be able to have any fun if you end up in the hospital wing...” 

Harry watched until Hermione and McLaggen disappeared around the corner, unable to make heads or tails of what he had just witnessed, two thoughts competing for dominance in his frontal lobes. Hermione liked him - she _**liked**_ liked Harry. Since when did Hermione like Harry like that? How come he’d never noticed?

And what was up with her liking McLaggen now, when just a short while ago she had been distinctly annoyed about McLaggen trying to cop a feel under the mistletoe? Feeling agitated and unsettled, Harry yanked off his invisibility cloak and headed back to Slughorn’s party to find Luna. Maybe she had some ideas.

Harry’s foot connected with something on the floor of the corridor and he heard a tinkling sound. He bent down to pick up the object glittering in the flickering orange light of the wall-lanterns. He frowned and the hair on the back of his neck began to prickle when he spotted the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes logo on the label of the vial which read, _Love Potion #9._

Harry was fairly sure that it had fallen from McLaggen’s robes when McLaggen had prevented Hermione from falling over. Feeling a bit panicked, Harry marched around the corridors, looking for Hermione and McLaggen, trying not to think of all of the worst possibilities. After an hour searching, Harry gave up and headed back to the Gryffindor Tower, wondering if he’d find Hermione and McLaggen snogging in the Common Room.

But stepping through the porthole into the Common Room, Harry only spied Ron, who was looking very satisfied with red lipstick smudged all over his face.

“Hi Harry,” said Ron, grinning. “How was Sluggy’s party then?”

Harry grit his teeth, suddenly feeling a surge of anger towards Ron, but he didn’t know why.

“Fine!” he said curtly. “Have you seen Hermione and McLaggen?”

“No! Er, well someone did come in while me and Lavender were busy snogging... might’ve been McLaggen I s’pose - sorta looked like him. But definitely not Hermione...” Ron paused, catching on to Harry’s moodiness.

“What’s up Harry?” asked Ron, looking a bit puzzled and feeling slightly irritable now. “You look a bit cross. Did Luna ditch you without giving you a snog?”

“We just went as friends Ron. You know that!” Harry struggled to keep his voice even. It wasn’t Ron’s fault that he was angry, after all. “I need to find Hermione. I think McLaggen might be trying to snog her...”

“So?” said Ron, scowling now. “That’s what she wanted, isn’t it? A snog from McLaggen?”

Harry couldn’t help himself; Ron’s denseness was just a bit more than he could handle right now.

“No, you stupid prat!” said Harry cuttingly. “I’m pretty sure Hermione wanted to snog _**you!”**_

In the heat of the moment, Harry began wondering why Hermione would ever want to snog Ron. They were like oil and water together. Putting that thought aside, Harry carried on, sounding more and more aggravated with each word.

“...But you stood her up for some snogging with Lavender instead. So Hermione decided to go with McLaggen to make you jealous...”

“Oh yeah!?” Ron’s face and ears started to burn, growing redder by the second. “Well, too bad for her! _She was too late!_ If she wanted to snog me, she should’ve said something. I’ve moved on! I’m a free agent!”

Harry was really starting to get sick of Ron’s “free-agent” justifications. The more Harry thought about it, it was Ron’s fault that Hermione had gone with McLaggen. Hell, Ron had even been the one to suggest she take McLaggen in the first place. 

“So, you don’t care if McLaggen has his way with Hermione then, do you? Is that what you’re saying?”

“What if I am, then?” Ron suddenly shouted. “She _**invited**_ him! If she didn’t want to snog him, she shouldn’t have gone with him. Guys don’t like being led on! Blimey Harry! You’re starting to sound like a girl!” 

“What if McLaggen used a love potion on Hermione?” Harry snarled, shoving the vial he had found under Ron’s long nose.

“Serves her right for going with McLaggen then!” Ron snapped back. 

Harry flushed guiltily. He’d more or less said the same thing to Hermione after she had escaped McLaggen’s tentacles at Slughorn’s party. Taking advantage of Harry’s momentary silence, Ron went on.

“Besides, so what? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of a snog! Everyone likes snogging...”

“And you’d like it if Millicent Bulstrode dosed you with a love potion and snogged you then?” said Harry angrily, finding his voice again. 

Ron looked briefly horrified at the thought, but his own fury reasserted itself. “What’s wrong with you Harry? I thought you were on my side! I thought you were supposed to be my best friend.”

“Hermione’s my best friend too, Ron,” Harry said a bit more quietly, taken aback by Ron’s attitude. 

But having decided that Ron was still just letting his jealousy get the best of him, Harry tried reasoning with him some more. “And she’s _**your**_ best friend as well, Ron. Don’t you at least care about what might happen to her... just as a friend?”

“Not if she’s going to be all stupid and girly about things!” Ron retorted nastily.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron, eyeing him coldly as a knot formed in his stomach. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

Ron hesitated, looking sulky, then shook his head. 

“Not really! No! Of course not! ... But still, she’s only got herself to blame!” Deciding that he’d had enough of Harry’s judgmental looks, Ron turned around and stomped up the stairs to bed. 

Harry almost ran up after him, then slumped on the sofa and ran his fingers through his messy black hair worriedly. Hermione was more important than Ron at the moment. There was no way that Harry could sleep right now anyway, and he really didn’t feel like being around Ron anymore. 

Just the thought of it made Harry feel a bit ill. Ron’s attitude was incomprehensible to him.

Harry wondered if McLaggen really had come back already. Maybe Ron was wrong. Maybe it was someone else who had come in while Ron was snogging Lavender. Harry couldn’t decide which was worse - McLaggen returning by himself, leaving Hermione all alone somewhere, or McLaggen and Hermione still out there together, getting up to who knew what.

Feeling too agitated to remain seated, Harry returned to his feet and started pacing. More than once he retrieved his invisibility cloak from his robes, only to replace it, deciding that it made more sense to wait until Hermione returned, with or without McLaggen.

The hours ticked by interminably as the crackling flames in the hearth gradually waned, but there was still no sign of Hermione or McLaggen, and Harry’s worry and guilt grew deeper. He should have never left the party to follow Draco...

**~o0o~**

Hermione awoke feeling cold and stiff, and sore in places that she didn’t want to feel sore. Blinking in the wintry morning light spilling through the frosted over windowpanes into the unused classroom, her eyes widened in horror. Shivering, Hermione spied her knickers lying on a desk nearby and her ballgown on the floor, finally realising why she felt so cold.

The memories of the night before hit her with full force. Shaking violently, Hermione turned her bushy head and vomited on the floor, heaving several times. She had said yes! _Why had she said yes?_

Hermione had been saving herself for Harry or Ron, whichever one was brave enough to ask her to be their girlfriend first - though Hermione had given up on Harry in despair when it seemed that he was finally seeing Ginny as more than a surrogate sister. There was no way Hermione would have said yes to McLaggen! 

Hermione distinctly recalled telling McLaggen no, and to keep his hands off her, before escaping from his groping grasp. But by the time McLaggen had found her again, Hermione had been feeling giggly, and all of a sudden he had seemed so much more attractive. 

More than attractive. His strong jaw and broad shoulders, his winning smile, his sensual aroma... 

The crush on McLaggen had been as intense as the one she had had on Harry ever since he and Ron had saved her from the troll. McLaggen had asked Hermione if she wanted to mess around a bit and she had left the party with him, finally ending up in the chilly classroom in which she was shivering right now. 

The last thing she remembered after they had had sex, was fading into oblivion as McLaggen grinned and pulled out his wand - his actual wand - and muttered something about demonstrating a spell he’d finally mastered.

Flushing with shame, Hermione picked up her knickers and gown with trembling hands as she began to sob. Harry was right! She should have never gone to the party with McLaggen.

**~o0o~**

Harry continued to pace as time crawled by, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to miss the signs that Hermione had liked him. She had been a constant presence in his life since the moment that he and Ron had saved her from the troll.

Hermione had broken rules for Harry. She had been at his side through thick and thin. She had set Snape’s robes on fire to protect Harry. And that last hug after she had told him that friendship and bravery were more important than books before he had passed through the flames to face Voldemort was a clear sign. 

She had stolen supplies from Snape’s storeroom and brewed one of the most difficult Potions and accidentally turned herself half-cat for Harry. 

Hermione had looked out for Harry, even when he had wished she hadn’t. Harry had been cross with Hermione for telling McGonagall about the Firebolt - not as angry as Ron, surprisingly, but still cross - but Harry knew she had only been doing it to keep him alive. 

Hermione’s only mistake was not talking to him first. Maybe she had just been afraid that he was too attached to flying to hand over the broom for inspection. That thought almost made Harry feel a bit angry; he may be thick, but he didn’t think he was as thick as Ron could be sometimes. 

If Hermione had just explained things, Harry knew he would have agreed to turn in the broom. The last thing he had wanted was to die being hurled off a cursed broom like he almost had been in first year. But the anger faded quickly. Nobody was perfect, Harry reasoned, not even Hermione. Harry had made plenty of mistakes himself.

Hermione had stuck by Harry when Ron had finally lost his marbles and ditched him in a jealous huff after Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. Hermione had invented the four point spell for him to use in the maze. 

Harry furiously kicked himself mentally as his thoughts continued to swirl around fourth year. He should have asked Hermione to the Yule Ball instead of pining over Cho. So Cho had straight black hair and pretty eyes - big deal. 

Hermione was just as nice to look at, bushy hair and all. And Harry actually knew how to talk to her. But Harry had been too stupid to see her as more than just a best friend at the time. 

And now he was being just as stupid over Ginny as he had been over Cho. What had he been thinking? Ginny was Ron’s sister. Ron would go mental if Harry ever looked at her that way. Besides, the Weasleys were more or less his adopted family. Didn’t that make Ginny more or less his adopted sister? 

Harry was a bit confused about his own feelings regarding Hermione at the moment, but as he thought about it, his feelings for her seemed a lot less confusing than those he had for Ginny. It just felt right being around Hermione. He couldn’t imagine _not_ being around Hermione - ever.

He momentarily returned to third year and the night he’d flown on the hippogriff with Hermione. That should have been a big fat clue right there. Thinking back to that night, Harry suddenly realised that his Super-Patronus had absolutely nothing to do with going back in time. The power to perform that Patronus had been within him the whole time, and had emerged because Hermione was there with him.

And then there was fifth year. What a bloody nightmare that had been! But Hermione had put up with all of his moodiness and anger, even going with him to the Ministry when she knew it was a trap. 

It was all his own fault, Harry suddenly realised. Hermione’s attitude towards him this year was his own damn fault! If he hadn’t been so stupid as to nearly get her and every one of their friends killed at the Ministry - like he’d got Sirius killed - maybe Hermione would have believed him about Malfoy. 

Maybe Hermione was right about the Half-Blood Prince’s potions book. Harry didn’t _really_ think she was though. There was nothing wrong with using the Prince’s notes to do well in class - Hermione had shared plenty of her own notes with him before. Underneath, Hermione had to know that wasn’t really cheating. 

There had to be another reason she was being so snippy with him about the Prince’s book. Was Hermione jealous because Harry seemed to like Ginny more than he liked her this year? That almost made sense, considering how bad Ron had made her feel by ditching her for Lavender. 

Hermione had made it clear to McLaggen that she had feelings for both Ron _and_ Harry. Though for the life of him, Harry was having a harder and harder time figuring out why she had those sorts of feelings for Ron.

The rug in front of the hearth with dying embers grew thinner and thinner as Harry trod back and forth, unable to bring himself to be cross with Hermione about anything at the moment. Harry just wanted his Hermione back, and knew he’d do anything for her. He’d give up that stupid book if that was what it took to have Hermione back.

Harry was out of his mind with worry when the clock struck six am, and he considered marching up to Dumbledore’s office and demanding that the castle be searched from top to bottom for Hermione when he heard the familiar click of the portrait of the Fat Lady as she opened up to let someone in.

His heart leapt when he saw the bushy hair of the girl climbing through the porthole.

“Hermione!” Harry gasped, making her start with fright. He almost asked where McLaggen was, but at the sight of Hermione’s puffy red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks and trembling frame, Harry thought better of starting off with an interrogation.

“Hermione!” said Harry again. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t’ve left you at the party all alone.”

He peered at Hermione earnestly, patiently waiting for Hermione to say something as she slowly moved towards him, casting her eyes at the floor. For a moment, they both stood there saying nothing, and Harry began to think that maybe a lot worse had happened than some unwanted snogging. 

Harry struggled to control his breathing, the momentary relief he’d had at seeing Hermione again evaporating. His stomach churned and some bile rose with his anger, which he savagely squashed for Hermione’s sake, leaving only his surging guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated in almost a whisper, reaching out a hand to gently take hers. 

Hermione jerked her hand away as if it had been stung and began shaking. Now Harry was absolutely certain.

Harry dropped his hand lamely, feeling horrible and not knowing what to do. He’d had moments like that, after being grabbed and slammed against a wall, or cuffed around the head, or receiving a few whacks from Uncle Vernon’s belt, when he was little. Over the years, he’d become more or less inured to it, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable when people touched him.

Hermione was the only one with whom he’d ever really felt comfortable being in close physical proximity. Her hugs were magical.

And just like that, no sooner than Harry had thought that in his head, Hermione flung her arms around him and buried her bushy head under his chin, crying into his chest. Cautiously, Harry reached his own arms around her and held her. They stood like that for a short while, arms around each other in silence except for the sound of her sobs.

“I... I sh...should have listened to you, Harry,” she whimpered when her sobs turned into sniffles. “I d...don’t know what I was thinking. One m...minute I thought he was a c...creep, and th...the next I w...was saying yes wh...when he asked me to have sex with him. I d...don’t know how I could be s...so _**stupid!”**_

“You _weren’t_ stupid!” Harry muttered, grinding his teeth as he felt the rage building up again. He violently suppressed it once more - this wasn’t the time. 

“McLaggen slipped you a love potion - one of the ones from Fred and George’s place...” Harry made a mental note to himself to tell the Twins to dump all their stock if they wanted his business or investments in the future.

“Wh... _what?”_ Hermione gasped, lifting her head and peering into Harry’s green eyes. “How... how could you know that?” 

Harry swallowed guiltily. “I... I was there. I saw you with McLaggen - b...but by the time I figured out something was wrong, you were both gone. Then I spotted a vial on the floor - it had dropped out of his pocket. It wasn’t your fault - it was mine. I should have tried to stop you going off with him...” 

“No!” Hermione whispered, looking confused. “No! That can’t be right. The Weasleys’ potions supposedly last twenty four hours. I should still be in...” Hermione caught herself, too revolted and humiliated to suggest that she had been in love with McLaggen - even temporarily.

Harry frowned. If the potion hadn’t worked properly, what did that mean? There was no question that Hermione was back to normal now, and that she hadn’t been last night. He saw the gears whirring in Hermione’s head as he peered back into her brown eyes, and marveled that she could work through a problem even with whatever emotional turmoil she was going through at the moment.

“...unless... unless it had something to do with a spell he was trying to cast when... when it was over,” Hermione muttered as more bits of her memory returned and everything fell into place. “I think the idiot tried to cast some sort of memory charm on me to make me think we had become boyfriend and girlfriend at the party. It must have somehow canceled out the effects of the love potion, if... if you’re sure he really did...”

“I’m sure!” Harry growled, sounding more forceful than he intended. “I’ve got the vial still in my pocket, and I think we should go to the hospital wing with it now...”

“NO!” Hermione said sharply, pulling away from Harry and looking frightened. “I... I can perform a contraception charm on myself. Th...that should be good enough.”

“What?” Harry was stunned. “But Hermione, you have to... McLaggen... He can’t get away with it! And Madam Pomfrey will look after the vial - the proof that he gave it to you...”

“I can’t Harry,” Hermione squeaked, flushing with shame. “I d...d...don’t want anyone else to know what he did to me.”

“Who cares about that?” said Harry, feeling the anger flaring again. “Anyway, it’s Pomfrey - she won’t tell anyone...”

“B...but she’ll tell Dumbledore, and then Dumbledore will p...probably expel McLaggen, and... and then _everyone_ will know!” Hermione began to tremble as tears rolled down her cheeks again.

As Harry thought about how Draco Malfoy was getting away with nearly murdering Katie Bell, he wasn’t so sure that McLaggen would be expelled anyway. Harry didn’t know what the hell to think. He’d told Dumbledore about Malfoy, but the headmaster had dismissed his concerns and called Katie Bell’s misfortune an “accident.” But Harry was sure that Dumbledore knew better. 

And Dumbledore trusted Snape - but Snape was trying to help Draco in whatever Draco’s secret mission was. It was clear to Harry that Malfoy’s secret mission was to murder someone. Maybe Katie Bell wasn’t the intended target of the necklace, but _somebody_ had been. And if she’d died, just because Draco was too stupid to get the necklace to the right target, that would’ve still been murder - not an accident. So what was Dumbledore playing at?

What if Draco’s intended target had been Hermione all along? Maybe Dumbledore was truly investigating but didn’t want to jump to conclusions, or alarm Harry? Would Dumbledore be just as dismissive about Harry’s concerns regarding McLaggen? 

Harry pushed aside his sudden paranoia and focused on Hermione again. 

“Hermione... Please! You have to go to the hospital wing! ... Even if it does come out, loads of people have treated you like rubbish since first year anyway. How would it be any different? You’ll still have me and...” Harry hesitated, Ron still seemed to be in one of his distinctly anti-Hermione moods. 

“Well, you’ll still have _me_ anyway, and I’m _never_ leaving you alone again... _**ever!”**_ Harry concluded fiercely.

Hermione shivered slightly at the look in Harry’s eyes - not from fear or humiliation, but because she saw in them something she’d been hoping to see for ages. For a moment she wondered if it was just the residual effects of the love potion, but quickly dismissed that thought as it didn’t really make any sense. 

“Please Hermione!” Harry begged when she didn’t respond. “You _**have**_ to turn McLaggen in... If not for yourself, then for any _**other**_ girls he might try it on with next, when he realises his stupid plan to make you his girlfriend didn’t work.”

Hermione’s breath caught and her eyes widened in shock. She mentally kicked herself for being so wrapped up in her own anguish that she hadn’t thought of that.

“Al...alright Harry,” said Hermione, casting her eyes down and feeling even more ashamed of herself than ever. “Let’s go to the hospital wing then.”

“Hey,” said Harry, gently cupping Hermione’s chin and lifting it to look into her eyes, “Don’t blame yourself. You’re the _victim_ here...”

**~o0o~**

After staying with her for a short while, Harry had left Hermione in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey, who had been surprised to see anyone in the infirmary so early in the morning.

No longer having a reason to keep himself calm, Harry’s rage began to bubble in the pit of his stomach as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower to have words with McLaggen. He realised that it was getting on for breakfast-time when he saw a few students trickling into the castle’s drafty corridors making their way to the Great Hall.

Indeed, as he neared the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry spied several Gryffindors emerging from the entrance of the Common Room. His jaw tightened when he saw who it was.

“Yeah, Granger’s my girl now,” he overheard McLaggen bragging to one of his friends. “You should’ve seen that little minx last night. She was all over me...” McLaggen trailed off and grinned when he spotted Harry, oblivious to Harry’s darkening features.

“Hey Potter! How was your date with Loony? Did you get a little action then?” 

Harry stared at McLaggen, not trusting himself to say anything. McLaggen faltered, catching the dangerous look in Harry’s eye. 

McLaggen snorted, assuming that Harry was jealous. “Hey, you snooze, you lose, Potter. It’s not my fault that you were too stupid to realise what a hot little number Granger is until it was too late.”

“Look who’s stupid!” Harry snarled, finding his voice. “If the only way you can get a girl to put out for you is to force yourself on her, that doesn’t say much for your brain-power...”

“What are you on about Potter?” said McLaggen, looking genuinely puzzled. “I didn’t force myself on her. Granger was _**begging**_ me for it...” McLaggen grabbed at his crotch and leered to make his point.

The next thing that Harry knew, he was on top of McLaggen, pounding his fist into the older, much larger Gryffindor’s face. 

“You RAPED her, you fucking prick!” Harry yelled as he furiously aimed another blow at McLaggen’s jaw. “You slipped her a love potion! She didn’t know what she was doing!” 

“Get off me Potter! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Dazed though he was, McLaggen summoned enough focus to jab his own fist into Harry’s gut and throw Harry off him. 

Harry fell backwards and staggered quickly to his feet, gasping for air. He’d had worse than that from Dudley, and he was on top of McLaggen again in an instant. The two of them rolled around on the stone floor of the corridor, grappling and punching each other as more Gryffindors spilled out of the porthole. 

McLaggen’s friends tried to grab at Harry and several girls started screaming for help until Ron finally emerged, looking on in shock. 

“Don’t just stand there!” McLaggen shouted as he tried to put Harry in a headlock. “You’re a bloody Prefect! Do something. Your mate’s off his nut!”

Taking advantage of McLaggen’s distraction, Harry wriggled out of his grip and clouted McLaggen’s jaw again... and again, and again. Harry was so enraged that he didn’t hear Ron yelling at him to stop.

It took every ounce of Dean, Neville, and Ron’s strength to hold onto Harry as they pulled him off McLaggen. McLaggen lunged at Harry, only to be restrained by his own friends as two professors thundered onto the scene.

“You attention-seeking little bastard!” McLaggen bellowed. “You think just because you’re the famous Harry Potter everything belongs to you! Granger is MINE!”

Ron scowled at McLaggen, almost letting Harry go. But Snape and McGonagall began to take charge as students clamoured around them, saying that Harry had started the fight. 

“ENOUGH!” McGonagall shouted. “What on earth is going on here? Weasley, Potter... What’s the meaning of all this?”

“Yes Potter!” sneered Snape, his black eyes glittering malevolently. “Please do enlighten us as to why you felt the need to engage in muggle combat rituals with a member of your own House.”

Harry stood sullenly in Ron and Neville’s clutches, blood dripping from his shaking fist. 

“He raped Hermione!” Harry ground out through his teeth. “McLaggen raped her... last night after Slughorn’s party.”

McGonagall gasped in shock and glanced at McLaggen.

 **“RUBBISH!”** McLaggen bellowed. “She wanted it! I asked her and she said yes!”

“That is quite the accusation, Potter,” said Snape coldly. “I don’t suppose you have any proof!”

“I’m not talking to you!” Harry spat. “You’ve got a lot of bloody nerve, acting like you’re above it all. I know what you and Malfoy are up to...”

 **“SILENCE, POTTER!”** Snape roared, his face twisting into rage as he marched toward Harry as if to seize him. “You have no idea...”

 _“Severus!”_ said McGonagall sharply. “Please calm yourself! There’s enough teenage testosterone loose in the hallway as it is.” McGonagall turned her attention back to Harry and McLaggen. “Right then!” she snapped. “You two - hospital wing - NOW! We’ll sort things out there with the headmaster.”

Harry couldn’t help feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as he and McLaggen were marched through the hallways towards the infirmary. Snape wanted proof, did he? Well there was plenty waiting for him in the hospital wing. 

Snape’s eyes narrowed when he spied the Granger girl sitting on one of the hospital beds.

Hermione paled slightly at the sight of McLaggen, then gasped at the state of his battered face and Harry’s still balled up fist dripping blood. She opened her mouth to ask Harry what he’d done, then shut it again quickly, unable to prevent the surge of gratitude she felt for Harry’s chivalry in defending her honour.

McLaggen swallowed nervously, suddenly realising that something had gone awry with his little plan.

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, eyeing the injured Gryffindors in horror. “What happened to you two?”

“That... is what we are here to determine,” said Snape, eyeing Hermione disdainfully. “According to Mr Potter, Mr McLaggen raped Miss Granger. Though the whole thing seems highly dubious to me.”

Hermione flushed angrily at the hateful expression on Snape’s features. “It’s _**true!”**_ she hissed, wondering if Harry was right about Snape after all. “He dosed me with a love potion...”

“That hardly constitutes rape, even if it were true,” the Potions Master snapped. 

**“OF COURSE IT’S RAPE!”** Harry thundered. “Hermione didn’t _**choose**_ to be dosed with a love potion! Anything she did under the influence wasn’t by her real choice!” 

Profesor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey both shot vicious glares at Snape, and Pomfrey opened her mouth to strenuously object, only to be cut off by the deputy headmistress.

“Potter is absolutely right, _Professor Snape!”_ McGonagall said icily. “If you don’t have anything meaningful to contribute, you should just leave at once.”

Snape didn’t even have the courtesy to look at all abashed at the admonition. He glowered venomously at Harry and Hermione.

“Regardless, no doubt Potter thought it would be amusing to play games with Mr McLaggen’s reputation and has roped Granger into setting him up. This wouldn’t be the first time that Potter has made unfounded accusations! He seems to be making a habit of it.” 

_“I... you...”_ Harry began to sputter incomprehensibly, infuriated that Snape would have the gall to accuse him of making things up when Snape _**knew**_ that Malfoy was responsible for nearly murdering Katie Bell. 

_“Be_ that as it may,” snapped Madam Pomfrey, “It seems that you yourself are not above making insupportable accusations Severus. Mr Potter and Miss Granger are both quite correct... My examination of the remnants in the vial of the potion in question revealed that it contained elements of both Miss Granger’s and Mr McLaggen’s essence - indicating that Mr McLaggen did indeed dose Miss Granger...”

“Is that so?” said a new voice in the ward. 

Everyone turned to look at Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster’s clear blue eyes held none of their usual warmth or twinkles as they swiveled to peer into Cormac McLaggen’s eyes. McLaggen groaned, knowing that he’d been caught dead-to-rights.

“Look... I... I wasn’t trying to hurt Hermione,” he mumbled fearfully. “I _like_ her! I just wanted her to be my girlfriend...”

“Rubbish!” Harry snarled. “You were gloating with your mates about it! You just wanted to have sex with her and you thought you could get away with it if you could convince her to be your girlfriend with that memory charm.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Unfortunately for you Mr McLaggen, the use of love potions are banned here at Hogwarts for a reason. In and of itself, the attempted employment of a love potion is not necessarily cause for automatic expulsion. _However,_ in conjunction with your appalling conduct - obtaining sex from a non-consenting partner - you have left me with no other option but to expel you...”

McLaggen looked aghast. “But... You can’t do that! My parents...”

“I can, and I will, Mr McLaggen,” said Dumbledore coldly. “Whether or not your wand is snapped, however, I will leave up to the judgment of the DMLE - in whose custody you will be leaving Hogwarts today. The only reason I hesitate to do so myself, is that I am reluctant to leave any wizard without a means to defend themselves while Voldemort is at large.”

Everyone in the room - except for Harry, Hermione, and Snape - winced at hearing Voldemort’s name spoken aloud.

“What about _Potter!”_ McLaggen growled, shooting Harry a savage look. “He attacked me! He should be expelled too...”

“I quite agree with Mr McLaggen’s sentiments.” Snape nodded, peering nastily down his hooked nose at Harry.

“Of course you do, Severus,” Dumbledore sighed wearily. “However, you know very well that is _not_ an option. Under the circumstances, I think I will leave arranging Harry’s detentions and points losses to Minerva...”

 _“What?”_ shrieked Hermione. “But that’s not fair! Why should Harry be punished for defending me?”

“Because Harry _wasn’t_ defending you, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore patiently. “He assaulted another student when it was clear that you were no longer in any immediate danger. Harry needs to learn that such behaviour is unacceptable in a civilised society.”

Harry quietly fumed as he listened to Dumbledore. Under other circumstances he would have ordinarily accepted the consequences of his actions without question. But given the situation with Snape and Malfoy, the injustice of it all was simply too much to bear.

“So why are you letting Malfoy get away with nearly murdering Katie Bell then?” Harry angrily retorted. 

“Harry, this is neither the time nor the place,” said Dumbledore, his voice hardening.

“Why not?” Harry gave Dumbledore a mutinous look. “I’m sick of being dumped on while others get off scot-free. You think I don’t know that I shouldn’t have beat up McLaggen - even though he had it coming? If Malfoy was getting what he deserved, I’d happily take my lumps...”

“Harry! You don’t know all the facts. I’m warning you...” 

“Or what? You’ll expel me?” Harry snorted mirthlessly, beginning to shake with anger. “We both know you’re not going to do that. And I know Malfoy was behind it, and so does Snape - I overheard them both last night...”

Snape’s already sallow skin paled considerably as his eyes widened. Hermione gasped, staring at Harry.

“Enough! I see that you are not to be dissuaded Harry. Very well then... Poppy, if you would please remove Mr McLaggen, and Minerva, please escort Miss Granger back to Gryffindor Tower...”

“NO! Hermione stays!” said Harry forcefully. “She can hear whatever we’ve got to say to each other. She’s the only one I trust right now! I don’t trust Snape, and I don’t trust you... I don’t even trust _myself_ at the moment because I’m so angry!” 

Professor McGonagall peered worriedly at Harry and then the headmaster. Dumbledore nodded at her.

“It’s alright Minerva. Harry’s point is reasonable... Miss Granger will be staying. ”

There was an awkward silence while Madam Pomfrey escorted McLaggen to her office and shut the door, and Professor McGonagall departed for the Great Hall. Snape shuffled uncomfortably, his dark glittering eye narrowed at Harry, his mouth curling into a grimace of hate.

“You see headmaster!” Snape sneered, the moment the hospital wing was clear. “Sheer insolence! He is as arrogant and self-righteous as his father, given to bouts of violence...”

“SHUT UP!” Harry yelled. “I’M NOT MY FATHER!”

“Severus, Harry, please...” said Dumbledore gently, as if trying to referee between two angry little children.

 _ **“No!**_ I’ve had enough! He’s _**always**_ treated me like rubbish! He treats Hermione and Neville like dirt too... I want to say my piece once and for all, without being dismissed out of hand, or getting detention just because he hates me. After all I’ve been through, I think I deserve at least that much!”

“By all means, Potter, continue your childish tirade...” Snape caught Dumbledore’s withering look and quieted. 

“Please, go on Harry.” Dumbledore looked at him sadly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “I must concede that you do at the very least deserve to voice your feelings and be heard without interruption and repercussion. But please try and control your temper, and remember, Professor Snape is a teacher who deserves your respect.”

 _ **“He should bloody act like it then!**_ And I’ll respect him the day he starts treating me and Hermione with a bit of respect - until then, forget it! He calls _**me**_ childish... well what do you call someone who treats someone else like a pile of dung just because he hated their father? ... since the very first day I came to Hogwarts when I was only eleven! _**What sort of grown up teacher treats kids like that?”**_

Snape let out a furious huff.

“Harry has a very fair point, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “Please contain yourself and hear him out.”

Harry gave Dumbledore a begrudgingly grateful look and went on, this time directly addressing Snape. 

“Look, I’m _**sorry**_ I saw your memory! I’m sorry for what my father did to you! But that wasn’t me - that was _him!_ You think it was bad for _you_ that I saw your memory - but it was worse for _**me!**_ It was horrible watching my dad bully you!

“I’ll always feel like crap about that - because he’s dead, and I’ll never be able to ask him to explain how he could be such an arsehole, and how he managed grow out of it. And I’ll always wonder what my mum ever saw in him! ... You can’t possibly know how much that hurts me inside...”

Harry paused, heaving a deep breath as his nostrils flared with emotion, his eyes stinging. Hermione bit her lip and took Harry’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as Harry pushed up his glasses with his other hand and rubbed his eyes.

Snape’s features briefly flickered. 

Struggling to pull himself together, Harry continued. “But you know what? As awful as what my dad did to you was, at least he knew the right side to be on during the war! He fought against Voldemort! What did _you_ do? You went and _**joined**_ him!

“You hated muggleborns as much as Voldemort did. You called my mother a Mudblood when she was defending you! How many people besides my parents did you watch Voldemort and the rest of his gang murder before you switched sides? 

“You accused _me_ of being violent when I’ve only ever stood up against people who treated other people horribly. But how many people did you murder yourself before you knew you were on the wrong side?”

Snape flushed angrily again and opened his mouth. Dumbledore gave Snape a look of warning and the Potions Master thought better of responding. 

“And last night I saw you offering to help Malfoy murder someone when he as good as admitted that he nearly killed Katie,” said Harry, trembling, desperately trying not to fly off the handle again. “He pretended it wasn't him at first, but the way you two were arguing, it was obvious that you both knew he'd done it and that he had plans to kill someone ...maybe even me or Hermione for all I know! So how am I ever supposed to believe that you really switched sides?”

Harry took off his steamed-up glasses and rubbed his eyes again, unable to stop the tears of rage and grief which were leaking from the corners. He peered at Snape almost pleadingly.

“How? How am I supposed to believe you?” 

Snape swallowed uncomfortably, unable to tear his glittering gaze away from Harry’s glistening green eyes, seeing something in them for the first time - something which he had refused to allow himself to see ever since Harry had first entered Hogwarts.

“Potter! You have no idea...” he croaked, unable to bring himself to say anything more.

Seeing Snape’s features look almost remorseful for the first time ever, Harry turned his churning cauldron of emotions and fury back on Dumbledore.

“And _**you!**_ ... You told me at the end of last year that it was really your fault that Sirius had died, because you had refused to talk to me all year and tell me anything about what was really going on! You even apologised for not telling me about the prophecy when I first got to Hogwarts! 

“And I tried... I’ve been trying to believe you ever since. I _want_ to believe you! And in my head, I know it’s true, but it still _feels_ like my fault to me. And... and when I see you letting Malfoy run around half-cocked trying to kill someone - probably me or Hermione - it makes me feel really stupid for ever trusting you! 

“Katie would’ve _**died**_ if I hadn’t got Hagrid in time! How many people does Malfoy have to murder before you stop him?”

For a moment Dumbledore looked his age, old and haggard. Harry caught the flicker of shame in Dumbledore’s eyes and pressed on relentlessly.

“D’you know what Malfoy told me in second year? He said that he hoped Hermione would be killed by Slytherin’s monster! He didn’t make a big secret out of it either. And... and it’s because of Malfoy’s dad that Ginny was nearly killed and... and Hermione nearly _was_ killed by Slytherin’s monster...”

Harry’s breath caught in a near-sob again and he glanced at Hermione - who was in tears herself - before returning his attention to Dumbledore.

“So _**why**_... why are you letting him get away with it?” Harry implored as more bitter tears trickled down his flushed cheeks. “Why are you protecting someone evil like Malfoy? Doesn’t anyone else in this school matter to you? 

“How can I trust you anymore? I _need_ to trust you, but I can’t! I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fight Voldemort! ... I’ve been fighting him my whole life really! Every _**bloody**_ year! ... But you _**never**_ tell me anything that I really need to know to be able to deal with things properly! I _**always**_ have to try and work everything out for myself - with Ron and Hermione’s help, and... and I’m _**always**_ getting in trouble for just doing what I have t’do to survive...”

Harry shot another dirty look at Snape - who quickly averted his eyes - and peered at Dumbledore again.

“I thought this year was going to be different after last year. But it’s not really, is it? You _**still**_ won’t tell me anything _really_ important, even though _**I’m**_ the one who needs to know it more than anyone else... because I’M Voldemort’s number one target, and I’M the one who always has to deal with him and his followers. And I’m sorry - looking at a few memories in a pensieve isn’t bloody good enough!

“Please! Help me trust you! Tell me what to do! ... I’ll do whatever takes to fight Voldemort. I’ll... I’ll give up quidditch and just study magic all the time! I’ll do whatever I have t’do to make you trust me - but I need to be able to trust you first! And right now, that... that’s just really hard for me to do anymore.

“I just feel like running away with Hermione right now! Maybe we’d go to Beauxbatons - I dunno... But I’d rather not. I’d rather stay and fight Voldemort - finish him for good! But I need to believe in you... I need a reason to believe! ...”

Harry trailed off, letting out several more sobs as Hermione wrapped her arms around him and stared coldly at Dumbledore and Snape. 

Snape just stared at his own feet as his carefully built walls crumbled, the shards littering the canyons of desolation in his soul, feeling more abject than he had in fifteen years. 

Dumbledore pulled a paisley hanky from his robes and pushed up his spectacles, dabbing at his eyes, wondering how he had managed to fail Harry so spectacularly... again. He took a moment to compose himself before addressing Snape.

“Severus, it would appear that we shall have to reconsider everything - and I do mean _**everything!**_ Can I trust that you shall no longer seek reprisal against Harry for imagined slights from this moment forward? ... And that you will afford Miss Granger the courtesy and dignity of which she is most deserving?”

“Of... of course headmaster!” Snape nodded, flushing guiltily. 

“Very good! Please let us be then, for the time being. And please keep a much closer eye on Mr Malfoy - put some house-elves on his tail if need be - until we have an opportunity to discuss the most appropriate way to end his path of destruction as quickly as possible, before any more students are harmed. For the moment, I have some severely damaged bridges to mend with Harry and Miss Granger...”


	2. His Mother's Eyes

Despite the calming draught that Harry had received from Madam Pomfrey following the conversation with Dumbledore, and after she’d healed his cracked knuckles, Harry’s stomach curdled bitterly when he returned to his dormitory and opened his trunk, staring at the Marauders’ Map. How the hell could he have forgotten about it? 

Everything could have been avoided had he remembered the map. Harry felt like slamming his head into the wall until he was comatose. This was just as bad as never opening the present that Sirius had given him - worse even; Harry had been clueless as to the precise nature of the gift from Sirius, but the Map was already one of Harry’s most prized possessions and had been used on more than one occasion.

Flinging the map furiously into his rucksack with some of his clothes and his invisibility cloak, he was glad that no-one else was in the dormitory as they were already packed and milling in the entrance hall preparing to leave for the Hogwarts Express. 

Harry had no idea how he was going to face the rest of the Weasleys, with whom he was supposed to spending Christmas. Harry could barely even look at Ron at the moment, and he was so angry at the Twins for selling love potions that he didn’t know how he was going to react when he saw them again.

Not to mention that Harry’s only real concern at the moment was looking after Hermione, but she was hurriedly preparing to return to her parents for Christmas. He threw his rucksack over his shoulder and ran down the stairs, unwilling to leave Hermione alone for any longer than he had to. 

Harry was surprised to see her sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, crying softly with her hands covering her face, and no packed bags. 

“Hermione?” 

She looked up at Harry and his heart crumbled to see the anguish in her eyes. Harry didn’t know what to say; he stood there awkwardly for a moment, hoping Hermione would say something. After a moment passed, and it was clear that Hermione didn’t know what to say either, Harry cleared his throat.

“Er... We’re going to be late. You don’t want to miss the train do you?” 

“I... I can’t...” Hermione heaved a sob and tried to start again. “I can’t go home like this. I can’t face my parents...”

“But... er... Why not?” Harry was confused. “Won’t you feel a bit better with them to comfort you?”

Hermione shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “I can’t tell them what happened... I just can’t.”

Harry frowned. His mind churned, trying to make sense of Hemione’s quandary. He’d never really met her parents properly the day he’d seen them in Diagon Alley - the day that Lucius Malfoy had slipped Ginny Weasley Voldemort’s diary and got into a fight with Mr Weasley. But they had seemed alright, and Hermione had never said anything but nice things about them.

“Won’t... won’t they understand? They love you don’t they?”

“Of course they do, Harry!” Hermione said a bit more shrilly than she had intended. She bit her lip and looked apologetic. “It... it’s just hard. I barely tell them anything important about Hogwarts or the wizard world anymore - just my schoolwork. I haven’t since after I told them about the troll incident and helping Hagrid get rid of the dragon. 

“Dad - he had almost wanted to pull me out of Hogwarts. I didn’t dare tell them about Voldemort trying to get the Philosopher’s Stone. And it only got worse after that day in Diagon Alley. They were frightened enough of the wizard world as it is - Dad especially. I couldn’t tell them about being part cat or the Basilisk... or anything else really.

“I think Mum would be a bit more understanding, but Dad... Anyway, if I told them what happened to me with McLaggen, they’d have a fit!”

“Well, you’re over seventeen. They can’t pull you out of Hogwarts now!” Harry pointed out reasonably. “And it could’ve happened anywhere... even in a muggle mixed boarding school. They can’t blame you...”

Hermione flushed, looking deeply ashamed of herself as her glistening eyelashes cast down. That’s when all the puzzle pieces fell into place in Harry’s brain.

“Oh!” said Harry sadly, acutely sensing Hermione’s humiliation. “Don’t... do you really think they wouldn’t understand why you went to the party with McLaggen then?” 

Her eyes still fixed on the floor, Hermione trembled.

“Mum might... I suppose,” she muttered. “I’m not so sure about Dad.”

Harry sighed and rubbed at his itching scar, feeling guilty again, recalling his own initial reaction after Hermione had ditched McLaggen under the mistletoe, and Ron’s attitude. It seemed an all too common response for guys to immediately blame the girl for getting into bad situations. He could only imagine how a father might react to that set of circumstances. For Hermione to be afraid of her own father’s possible reaction made Harry feel a bit nauseous.

“What if... what if I came with you?” Harry asked tentatively. Hermione looked up, her big brown eyes widening in surprise.

“You would do that for me? What about the Weasleys - they’ll be expecting you.”

“I’d do anything for you Hermione! I mean it! And... and honestly, I’d rather be with you. I don’t really feel like being around the Weasleys right now - well, Ron mostly, as he’s still being a bit of a prat at the moment.”

Harry wondered if he’d made a mistake bringing up Ron, because Hermione’s pooling eyes began leaking tears again. He was startled when Hermione suddenly flung herself on him.

“Th...thank you Harry!” she sniffled, squeezing him tightly. “I’d like that very much!”

After a moment passed, Hermione quickly jogged up the stairs and returned a few minutes later with a rucksack slung over one shoulder. By the time Harry and Hermione reached the entrance hall, students were already filing out through the front doors into the carriages which would be carrying them to the Hogsmeade railway station.

For a moment Harry breathed a sigh of relief, then he groaned, spying Ron saying a thoroughly nonverbal goodbye to Lavender. Hermione stiffened, her eyes narrowing at Ron. Catching her expression, Harry couldn’t help feeling a little tingle of something uncomfortable which he had never had the cognizance to feel before regarding Hermione.

Lavender clambered into a carriage with Parvati, and spying Hermione, they both shot her sympathetic looks. Parvati jumped back out of the carriage and to Hermione’s great surprise gave her a hug.

“I’m so sorry Hermione,” Parvati murmured. “That was awful. I hope you manage to have a nice Christmas.” Parvati cannily noted Harry’s close proximity to Hermione as she climbed back into the carriage. “Good for you Harry. I hope you broke McLaggen’s nose.”

“...And knocked out a few of his teeth,” Lavender added. “Look after Hermione, Harry,” she concluded meaningfully. Ron gawked a bit at Harry and Hermione, pondering the significance of his girlfriend’s meaningful tone. 

Harry almost laughed at Ron’s expression and comically stained mouth, then remembered that he was cross with Ron at the moment. Nonetheless, Harry managed a stiff sort of smile. Hermione seemed to be similarly afflicted, not sure what to say to Ron, but she didn’t bother to try hiding her ambivalence.

Ron turned slightly pink. Feeling somewhat abashed, he avoided Hermione’s glare and looked at Harry instead. 

“Er... Yeah, good job nailing McLaggen, Harry! I’m sorry I held you back! The bastard had it coming...” Ron tried not to look Hermione directly in the eye when he mumbled at her, “Sorry Hermione. Hope your Christmas is alright.” 

“So... er... you coming Harry?” asked Ron, puzzled when Harry made no move to get on the carriage which also held Seamus, Dean Thomas, and Ginny - who was also peering sympathetically at Hermione.

“Erm...” Harry swallowed nervously, hoping Ron wouldn’t make a scene. “Er... I’m going to stay with Hermione for Christmas instead.” 

Ron’s eyes caught Hermione’s hand wrapped tightly around one of Harry’s; his ears turned even redder and his eyes narrowed. 

“Oh! I see. Fine! ... Happy Christmas you two!” Ron muttered crossly as he climbed into the carriage. “Ow!” he blurted out when Ginny swatted his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“For being a prat, you dimwit! Don’t be so mean.”

“I wasn’t being mean,” said Ron in a wounded tone.

“Then stop acting all jealous - especially after what Hermione’s just been through. You’ve got a girlfriend,” Ginny snapped.

Harry couldn’t help grinning as the carriage which held the bickering pair of Weasleys began rolling away, suddenly feeling more hopeful that they’d all manage to be proper friends again eventually. He gave the Thestral attached to the carriage in front of him a pet before helping Hermione climb aboard.

**~o0o~**

Fawkes ruffled his scarlet and gold feathers, letting out a little trill of admonishment as Dumbledore poured himself a snifter of Dragon Barrel Brandy. Dumbledore gave the phoenix a look and lifted the goblet to his lips for a good swallow when there was a knock on his office door.

Sighing, Dumbledore placed the snifter back on the desk.

“Come in,” he beckoned, unsurprised to see a very severe looking Professor McGonagall in his doorway.

The deputy headmistress eyed the glass of brandy on the desk with apparent disapproval as she closed the door behind her.

“A bit early, isn’t it?”

“So Fawkes tells me,” Dumbledore returned politely, waiting for the dam to burst. He didn’t have long to wait.

“So! Potter was right on the mark then!” McGonagall stated acidly. “Malfoy was behind the near murder of Katie Bell after all... and you _**knew!”**_ McGonagall’s voice began to rise. “You knew that Malfoy was on a murderous rampage and so did Severus! This is absolutely _**outrageous!**_ ... Putting the entire student body at risk for the sake of protecting one Death Eater’s boy - a boy well-known to harbour malevolent intentions - for purposes unknown...”

“Minerva...”

“Don’t you _**dare**_ ‘Minerva’ me!” snapped McGonagall, waving her arms furiously. “It’s bad enough that every child in this school faces mortal peril with V...Voldemort at large, but Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe haven. 

“And to make matters worse, how is my word supposed carry any authority with Mr Potter when he clearly knows more about what is going on around here than I do? How are punishments for his reckless behaviour - well intentioned as it nearly always is - to carry any moral weight when those with **_ill_** -intent are left unpunished? 

“Time and again I have defended your decisions to Potter and tried to impress upon him that you knew what was for the best. Potter must think me a hypocrite and a complete fool! And he would be right...” 

Taking advantage of Professor McGonagall’s pause to take a breath, Dumbledore interjected.

“The boy has the highest regard for you Minerva, I can assure you. Me on the other hand... not so much. I am afraid Minerva... afraid that in my exceeding arrogance that I may have doomed the entire wizard world and consigned its most selfless young hero to an altogether undeserved fate - a possibly meaningless death should even the smallest part of my plans unravel.

“All for the sake of trying to save the soul of someone less than deserving of being saved. Unfortunately, certain wheels have been set in motion, and I am uncertain as to how to reverse them. It is I who is the fool! A fool blinded by the sense that I alone could see all potentialities, when that very arrogance is what limited my vision...”

Professor McGonagall’s breath caught in surprise, her eyebrows arching impressively. She was thoroughly taken aback to see the headmaster looking so abject. 

“What... What do you mean Albus?”

“I mean, Minerva, that I am dying - slowly. And I had formulated a plan based on that very fact, with the knowledge that young Mr Malfoy has been tasked with murdering me by Voldemort himself. 

“In an ill-advised effort to save Draco Malfoy’s soul, and to set my plan in motion, I asked Severus to take upon himself the task of killing me. And now, Severus stands in jeopardy because of an oath - an Unbreakable Vow - which he made to Narcissa Malfoy to protect Draco. 

“And Harry... while making every attempt to protect young Mr Malfoy and his family, I was willing to send Harry to his potential death - to make the ultimate sacrifice. How grotesquely unfair! How unjust! 

“How cruel am I to ask a young boy to meekly allow himself to be slaughtered while trying to protect murderers and their murderous scion from Voldemort’s wrath, with no guarantee that said young boy could be resuscitated? 

“A young boy whom I care about deeply, as if he were my own grandson. Yet I still convinced myself that it was necessary - that the ends justified the means. And I took some comfort in knowing that Harry himself was willingly prepared to do whatever it took to end Voldemort, and that due to certain circumstances there would be a slight possibility that Harry might yet survive the ordeal. 

“For all my wisdom, I am not wise. And Harry proved today - beyond all doubt - that he is the wiser and more courageous man by far! 

“Harry was right - as are you Minerva. How many others could die at Draco Malfoy’s hands while I await him to reach the fruition of his plans? I see now how utterly foolhardy and reckless my plan was. In comparison, Harry’s own reckless excursions are vastly more clear-sighted and thought-out than my meticulously crafted plans.

“I have wronged him - abused his trust in me, time and time again. As I have abused yours. I discovered today, during a short conversation with Harry and Miss Granger following the discussion with Severus, that you were correct to admonish me all those years ago for leaving Harry with the Dursleys.

“Things there were much worse than I had imagined. In my curiosity as to how deeply I had wounded Harry, I asked him to start at the beginning. Of course, being who he is, Harry was loath to be completely open about his mistreatment, and downplayed his circumstances, in large part due to believing such mistreatment to be normal behaviour for most adults.

“Yet he could not help thinking of the many instances in which he had been struck, or caged like an animal. And I very clearly saw in his mind the memories. Vernon Dursley and his son were by far the worst and most regular violators of Harry’s physical sovereignty, but Petunia was no less at fault. 

“There were a number of instances in which she slapped Harry and painfully yanked his ears - minor incidents to be sure, compared to Vernon’s blows with fists and belt, which were never enough to seriously injure, but certainly enough to damage any young person’s heart. But the incident which troubles me the most is one in which Petunia very nearly killed Harry during the summer before Second Year. Harry barely managed to avoid a heavy blow aimed at his head with a frying pan.

“It is only by sheer happenstance that Harry is still with us today to face Voldemort. Voldemort could have won without ever lifting a finger himself... And it is all my fault. 

“We are very fortunate, Minerva - fortunate that Harry has his mother’s soul. Most boys who have endured as much as Harry has in his short life would have long been consumed by the darkness and resentment, and been driven into the arms of those such as Voldemort.

“But Harry’s light - his purity of spirit and his kind soul - that which could have only come from his mother, Lily - shines so brightly, that no shadow can remain long in its presence. Yet due to my arrogance and blindness in treating Harry like a Pawn on the chessboard, instead of the Knight which he truly is, I almost drove Harry away. 

“I have managed to extend an olive branch to Harry this morning, and promised that henceforth we shall work as partners - in open communication with each other - in the fight against Voldemort. But my work rebuilding that trust between us is still cut out for me, and I am at a loss in terms of how to proceed from this point forward. 

“I would simply put an end to young Malfoy’s schemes right here and now and cut my losses, letting the chips fall where they may, but now Severus is also on the block.... And I welcome any counsel that you may provide.”

Looking ancient and weary, it appeared that Dumbledore had concluded his confession. 

McGonagall was shaken to the core by his frank admissions. Her mind whirled chaotically as it tried to grasp the enormity of the situation. Knees wobbling weakly, McGonagall plonked herself in one of the poofy chintz armchairs which she usually regarded with disdain, eyeing again the glass and bottle of brandy on the desk.

“Well, this is all quite shocking I must say, Albus. But to begin, how about you pour me one of those...”

**~o0o~**

His eyes!

Her eyes!

He had her eyes - Lily’s eyes! 

Harry Potter had his mother’s eyes!

Severus Snape staggered into his office and slammed the door behind him, his face wrought with bitter agony, tears dripping from his hooked nose.

Reaching into one of the drawers of his desk, Snape retrieved a bottle of Ogden’s Finest and a shot glass. He poured a glass of the firewhiskey and downed it in a single gulp, then poured himself another and swallowed it whole as well.

Snape had been vaguely aware that behind those stupid round glasses, Harry’s eyes weren’t precisely the same as his father’s and that they were green. But that had seemed insignificant in light of the boy’s overall appearance.

There had been no question in Snape’s mind that Harry was his father to the very bone. And Snape had ignored anything which might contradict that comfortable notion. Harry’s night-time prowlings and apparent disregard for the rules had simply solidified Snape’s views

But being forced by the headmaster to listen to Harry Potter uninterrupted had tilted Snape’s entire world. And when Harry had removed his glasses and peered at him with Lily’s tear-filled eyes, the Hard-Truths with which Harry had bludgeoned Snape burned like brimstone in the depths of his soul. 

Snape knew that he’d never be able to tolerate Harry’s presence for any great length of time, but no longer could Snape live with his carefully crafted delusions about Harry’s inner-nature. There was no question about it, Harry was Lily to the core of his soul - if “his” was even the correct pronoun for who Harry truly was on the inside, which Snape very much doubted now that the mote had been plucked from his eye.

But it didn’t make Snape feel any better; his self-loathing was a thousand times worse for taking the truth to heart. Snape had treated Lily’s “son” abysmally for years, and he knew that Lily would be horrified if she knew of the abuse which he had heaped upon Harry.

Snape knew that he didn’t deserve an ounce of Lily’s forgiveness, but if there was any small measure by which Snape could live with himself, he would do everything in his power to see Harry live beyond the Dark Lord’s passing, Dumbledore’s plans be damned.

**~o0o~**

Hermione tried to avoid everyone’s gaze as she and Harry searched for an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but it wasn’t so easy to avoid the whispers. Her cheeks burned in humiliation at some of the nastier comments, and she could hear Harry’s teeth grinding as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Liar,” “Tramp,” and “Slut” were among the kinder comments hissed under breaths, and Hermione had to grab Harry’s arm more than once to prevent him from hexing anyone. But she almost let his arm go when they both overheard someone loudly say, “I heard she was begging for a good hard shag!”

“Piss off, Smith!” Harry snarled at Zachariah Smith as Hermione tried to drag Harry away. “You’re lucky I don’t just knock your teeth out and shove out the window right now...”

“It’s alright Harry,” Hermione pleaded. “Leave it...” 

Harry gave Smith one more glower and they continued down the aisle. They spotted Luna sitting in a compartment with Neville, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbott. Luna beckoned, but Hermione was grateful that Harry seemed to have picked up on her need to be alone when he shook his head and politely thanked Luna.

Finally, at the very end of the train, Hermione and Harry found an empty compartment. Harry locked the door and drew the curtain across the window to the aisle. Taking seat next to one another, Hermione had thought that she would be more uncomfortable in Harry’s presence than she was. 

Everything she had ever heard of girls and women who had shared similar experiences to her own had suggested that many often tended to withdraw and pull away from intimate contact, even from those whom they loved.

And Hermione thought she probably would have from anyone else, even Ron when he was in his better moods. But there was something about Harry which was very different. He just wasn’t like most guys. Certainly, sometimes Harry could be just as dense as any other boy, but something about him just made her feel safe - it always had.

Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry’s gentle green eyes - those eyes which she had always thought too pretty to be a boy’s eyes - as she sat next to Harry and smiled wanly at him.

Harry had never looked so nervous. Hermione could see him gulping as she rested against him. Hoping she wasn’t going to freak Harry out any more than he already was, Hermione took a chance.

“Could you... could you just hold me please, Harry?” she asked.

“Er... Yeah! Okay Hermione.” Harry tentatively put an arm around her and she snuggled closer, nestling into the crook of his shoulder.

The wheels of the train let out an ear-piercing shriek as it lurched into motion, clattering along the tracks. Hermione and Harry sat in silence, together, and yet each alone with their thoughts as the snowy landscape of the Scottish Highlands sped by their window.

Nearly an hour passed that way, and despite everything that had happened in the last twelve hours Hermione began to feel happier and more content than at any time she had in the previous weeks. Everything had steadily declined from that moment in the greenhouse when Ron had angrily suggested that Hermione take McLaggen to Slughorn’s Christmas Party.

Hermione knew now that it had been a mistake to ever think that she and Ron could have had a future together - they were fundamentally incompatible. But she couldn’t help having felt close to him, as she had to Harry. They had all shared so much together, and despite all of Ron’s rudeness, thickness, and insecurities, behind all of his immaturity and his damaged emotional core there was a kind person who made Hermione laugh. 

But making her laugh wasn’t enough to get past the fact that Ron infuriated her to no end, driving her to distraction, even when he wasn’t being deliberately rude to her or belittling her pursuits and interests. Ron brought out a side of Hermione’s personality that she despised. Nobody made her as angry as Ron did - not even Malfoy or Snape, both of whom she hated with every fibre of her being. 

And making Hermione laugh wasn’t enough to get past the fact that Ron was lazy and intellectually incurious. It was a constant source of surprise to Hermione that Ron was as good at chess as he was. There was no other indication that the boy had an intellectual bone in his body. 

Harry at least had the excuse of being distracted from schoolwork by the constant attempts on his life year after year. Yet Harry was at least interested in learning most of his subjects, and he always managed to show up at the end of every summer with his homework done - unlike Ron who usually just scrawled a few lines on pieces of parchment just before the train rounded the last bend to Hogwarts.

And Harry had proved this year that with a professional teacher who encouraged him instead of offering nothing but humiliation and harassment, that he could follow instructions more than competently and produce exceptional potions. One could only imagine how brilliant Harry might be in potions today if he’d had that sort of encouragement from his very first year.

Hermione hated herself for allowing her concern for Harry’s safety and her jealousy of the “Half-Blood Prince” to colour her views of the “Prince’s” book. There was no question that the author of the annotations had been an outstanding potioneer. She shouldn’t begrudge Harry the opportunity to learn from the “Prince’s” notes instead of _her_ notes. 

Hermione vowed to stop pestering Harry about the book. Maybe... maybe they could even share it, if Harry weren’t already too annoyed with her about the whole situation. 

And she hoped Harry wasn’t too aggravated with her after she’d been so wrong about Malfoy. That disgusting little worm really had stepped into his father’s shoes after all. Hermione wasn’t even sure why she hadn’t believed Harry to begin with. It only made sense that Malfoy would start working for Voldemort at the earliest opportunity.

It was Harry who finally broke the silence while Hermione continued to ruminate in the comfort of Harry’s embrace. Harry awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Er... Hermione, I, erm... I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is it true? D’you really have feelings for me? It’s just... I overheard you, and I’m not sure if it was just something weird about the, er... potion. I’m sorry to ask - I’m not trying to upset you?”

Hermione trembled, not sure how to respond. What if she had been imagining things when she’d seen the conviction and affection in Harry’s eyes?

Harry had always been kind to Hermione whenever she was upset, and he’d always tried his best to protect her from danger. This could just be another one of those instances. If Harry was still more interested in Ginny than he was in her, the last thing Hermione wanted to do was confuse Harry and come between him and Ginny. 

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, looking distraught when Hermione didn’t respond right away. “Forget I asked! I’m just being stupid! The _last_ thing you probably want to think about is relationships right now.”

“It’s alright Harry,” Hermione said finally, letting out a rueful laugh. “I don’t mind. That’s actually _**all**_ I’ve been thinking about this whole time - how I’ve been letting my feelings ruin everything between us...”

“Oh!” said Harry, trying not to sound dejected. Hermione suddenly realised that Harry had taken her the wrong way.

“I’m sorry Harry! That didn’t come out quite right! Yes... I _**do**_ have feelings for you. I’ve really liked you ever since the troll. But I don’t want to spoil things for you with Ginny...”

“But she’s with Dean!” said Harry, looking puzzled.

“I know! But she still likes you. She’s just moved on because she wasn’t sure if you’d ever see her as more than a sort of sister. And I know you’ve been looking at her as a bit more than that lately.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyebrows popped up, disappearing into his messy fringe. “Well, to be honest, I’m really not sure how I feel about Ginny. I mean - yeah, I was sort of noticing her more as a... er... girl, than a sister I suppose. But it’s all so confusing with her. I don’t really know her like I know you... and... and then there’s Ron...

“I dunno... It’s not so confusing with you, Hermione! I know I’ve been too bloody thick to notice before now, but... this feels right to me - being here with you - like this! It’s _**always**_ felt right and I’ve only just realised it! But...”

“...then there’s Ron,” Hermione sighed, finishing Harry’s sentence. “I’m really not at all interested in Ron in that way anymore, Harry. This whole business with Slughorn’s party and Lavender, and McLaggen, has thoroughly finished me as far as Ron’s concerned... in a romantic way, anyway.

“I like him enough to still be friends, but I’m fairly certain that I’ve lost Ron as a _**good**_ friend, the way he’s been acting towards me lately. I couldn’t bear to lose you too, Harry. I know how jealous Ron would get if you and I ever got together officially, and... and I don’t want to come between you and Ron any more than I wanted to come between you and Ginny.”

“Honestly, I’m a bit off Ron myself at the moment,” said Harry. “I know there’s an alright bloke in there somewhere, and I know that eventually he’ll come around - he usually does. But for right now... bugger him! He’s got Lavender! I just hope he’s treating her nicely and not just using her.”

There was quiet again in the compartment, and all that could be heard was the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track. It was an intense sort of quiet as Hermione and Harry peered into each other’s eyes questioningly.

“So... er... Where does that leave us, Harry?”

“Erm... Well, all I really know is that you mean more to me than _**anything**_ Hermione! If you want me to get rid that stupid Potions book, I will. But I’ll understand if what happened with McLaggen has put you off wanting a boyfriend altogether, and... and I’m perfectly happy to wait until you’re ready, if that’s what you want...”

A sudden swell of elation crashed through Hermione like a tidal wave, nearly wiping out every horrid feeling clouding her soul. For a brief moment, Hermione almost forgot about McLaggen, and to Harry’s great surprise she gave him a peck on the lips and fluttered her eyelashes shyly.

“I... I think that’s about the best I can offer you at the moment Harry - well, that and cuddles - I’m not sure how long it’ll be before I’m able to, er... get past last night. But if it’s enough for you, I’d be very happy to consider you my boyfriend.”

“That’s more than enough,” croaked Harry.

Hermione watched an array of emotions flicker across Harry’s visage, the corners of his lips twitching up as if to grin, the pooling of his iridescent green eyes which bespoke some sort of anguish. And before she could stop herself, Hermione was kissing Harry again, one hand cradling his head as their lips mingled in passion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I had hoped that I had made Hermione's emotional state after her experience fairly clear in the text, between this chapter and the next, without requiring further explanation. I knew that the kiss at the end of this scene would not be without some controversy, however, the distinction between the effects of a magical love potion would be quite distinct compared to the common real world date-rape drugs, including plying someone with too much alcohol, or slipping a roofie into someone's drink._
> 
> _in this story, I am thus dealing with a magical date rape drug which doesn't exist in the real world, but which does have some features which are similar to drugs which lower inhibitions, ranging from Alcohol to Ecstasy. The distinction with a Love Potion is that it also causes the victim to have strong feelings of **infatuation** , euphoria, and ardor._
> 
> _Hermione's biggest emotional trauma in this story then, are her feelings of guilt and humiliation (and moments of depression) at having **(falsely)** "consented" to sex with McLaggen, and enjoying it. She has some sense of violation after the fact, but that is more removed from the direct experience, being an intellectual acknowledgment of what actually occurred, hence she is less emotionally impacted by that sense of violation (it still has some impact obviously-as indicated symbolically in the following chapter)._
> 
> _Hermione is at the same time, also trying to deal with feelings for Harry which she has long tried to suppress, and being totally over Ron. In that moment-the kiss-Hermione is trying to cope by supplanting her False feelings for McLaggen with her Real feelings for Harry. It is a moment of emotional catharsis._
> 
> _That is where the need for some physical contact and the kiss-that moment of passion-is coming from. And to Hermione's mind, she believes that the best way to deal with things is draw closer to Harry-someone she trusts and feels safe with. That doesn't mean she is immediately going to hop in the sack and have sex with Harry, as is often seen in stories which have no idea what survivors actually have to go through._


	3. Perchance to Dream

Hermione woke up with a start, shrieking and jerking away from the arm around her before realising it was Harry’s. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, realising that they were both still on the Hogwarts Express and that she was safe. Hermione flushed and bit her lip, peering apologetically at Harry, who looked absolutely terrified, much more frightened than she had felt herself.

“Hermione - are you alright? Did... did you have a nightmare?” 

“Yes! B...but I’m alright Harry - really!” Seeing Harry’s skeptical and still panic-stricken features, Hermione tried her best to reassure him and explain what she was really feeling, turning even redder as she did so.

“It... it’s not what you think, Harry.” Hermione cast her eyes down, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of shame, and no small amount of confusion. 

“I... I almost think it would be better if it _**was**_ that sort of nightmare...” she muttered, tears trickling down her blazing red cheeks. “In my dream, I was... I was en... _enjoying_ it...” Hermione’s face twisted with revulsion as she trembled and let out several sobs before pulling herself together enough to continue. 

“...until... until his face turned into Snape’s. Th... _ **that’s**_ when I got frightened and... and realised he’d used a love potion on me. Then I screamed and woke up...” 

“Oh! That’s... really horrible!” Harry said awkwardly. “I’m sorry... er... you’re safe now.”

Hermione bit her lip again; Harry looked so helpless as he struggled to find some comforting words to say, keeping his hands close to his side. The sight was more frightening to Hermione than anything; the fear that Harry would be put off her and leave her all alone crawled like ice through her veins. 

In that instant, Hermione hated McLaggen more than the first moment when she’d found out that he had used a love potion on her. She hated him more than she thought she could ever possibly hate anyone that she’d ever hated - more than Snape or Malfoy - more than Voldemort or Umbridge.

“It’s okay Harry. I mean it! It... it’s more... _humiliating_ than anything! Please... don’t be afraid to hold me,” Hermione implored. “I _**need**_ you to hold me!”

“Are... are you sure?” 

Hermione nodded. “Absolutely sure! I feel much better when you’re holding me... when I know it’s _you,_ Harry. I think... I think the more _**you**_ hold me, the more I’ll be able to forget about _**him!”**_

Harry let out a huge sigh of relief and Hermione could see the understanding in his eyes. Harry tentatively held open his arms and Hermione snuggled into them once more. Hermione took several deep breaths through her nose to fix Harry’s scent firmly in her mind, and settled in for the rest of the journey, comforted by his warm embrace. 

Hermione let out a peaceful little sigh when she felt Harry press his lips to her bushy hair, and gradually, they both drifted off again. The snowy landscape of Scotland and Northern England gave way to slate grey skies and rain-soaked fields as the Hogwarts Express trundled ever southwards, the sleeping pair eventually reaching London without further incident.

**~o0o~**

Billowing clouds of hot vapour poured across Platform Nine and Three Quarters as the gleaming red steam engine finally pulled into King’s Cross, brakes shrieking. Molly Weasley kept an eagle eye out for her children as students spilled onto the platform. Arthur was working late again, as he often was these days - if not for the Ministry, then on some sort of job for the Order.

Molly’s face lit up when she spotted Ron and Ginny amongst the throng, and she heaved a sigh of relief to see that they had both arrived, safe and sound. She waved to get their attention.

“Over here,” she shouted. Molly threw her arms around her two remaining Hogwarts age children and squeezed them both tightly when they finally managed to break free of the crowd.

“Urgh! Mum... let a man breathe!” Ron gasped. Molly released Ron and Ginny, beaming at them before frowning slightly in puzzlement.

“Where’s Harry?” she asked. “I thought he’d be with you two.”

“With Hermione,” Ron muttered irritably. “He’s staying with her for Christmas instead... Ow! Stop doing that!” Ron snapped at Ginny when she smacked him on the shoulder.

“Then bloody grow up!” Ginny shot back.

“What’s going on here? What’s this all about then?” Molly’s features darkened, and she felt a chill of foreboding run up her spine. “Is something wrong with Harry or Hermione?”

“Ron’s just being a prat!” Ginny gave Ron a glare, before giving her mum a troubled, serious look. “But yes... er... sort of. I’ll tell you in a minute. I just _**have**_ to know something first! Mum... did you... did you give Dad a love potion to make him love you? Is that why he married you?”

Molly was floored. In a brief moment of stunned silence, she peered into her daughter’s imploring eyes and glanced at her son who was shuffling awkwardly, his own eyes planted firmly on the sooty floor of the platform.

“What?” Molly gasped when her voice returned. _“Heavens_ no! Why would you ask me such a thing? And what on earth does this have to do with Harry staying with Hermione?”

“Cormac McLaggen,” said Ginny “He snuck a love potion into Hermione’s drink at Professor Slughorn’s Christmas Party, and... and had sex... no, I mean... he _raped_ her. McLaggen raped Hermione! And that’s why Harry’s staying with Hermione for Christmas - to keep her company and look after her.”

Ginny didn’t add that she thought Harry and Hermione had probably finally realised that they loved each other too. It didn’t seem relevant in that moment.

Molly turned white, her freckles like splashes of scarlet paint on an otherwise blank canvas.

 _“McLaggen did **what?”**_ Molly shrieked, shaking with fury as the blood rushed back into her cheeks. _“Where is that boy? Where is he? I could **murder** him!”_

“Harry already beat him up!” said Ginny, a look of pride flickering across her features. “And I think he’s getting expelled - McLaggen I mean - McLaggen’s getting expelled. But you haven’t really answered my question _properly_. You told me and Hermione just before third year that you made a love potion when you were a girl...”

Molly gave Ginny a sad, sympathetic smile, suddenly understanding her daughter’s quandary.

“Oh sweetie, I barely knew what I was doing, and I didn’t know it was wrong. I wasn’t even in Hogwarts yet and I was trying to follow a recipe I’d found in my grandmother’s notebook. It wouldn’t have worked even if I had managed to get it to the boy I was interested in. ... I’m sorry if I _**ever**_ gave you the impression that it was alright to use a love potion on an unsuspecting person...” 

“What’s going on?” asked Fred, who had just appeared with George. “We’ve been waiting forever,” he moaned. “Time is galleons.”

“And what were you shouting about Mum?” asked George. “We could hear you all the way across the platform...”

 _ **“You two!”**_ snarled Ginny, whose features had caught aflame at the sight of her brothers. Ron gulped and slowly backed away from Ginny, hoping that she didn’t know how to conjure canaries - her bat bogie hexes were scary enough.

“We’re going to your shop this _**instant!”**_ Ginny continued vehemently, quivering with rage. “And you’re going to destroy every single, last bottle of love potion in stock...”

“And why would we do that?” asked Fred nonchalantly.

“Because you sold some to McLaggen and he used it to rape Hermione?” Ginny hissed venomously.

“Wait! What did you just say?” Molly’s eyes boggled. She hadn’t thought the situation could get any worse “You mean McLaggen got it from Fred and George?” 

Molly rounded on her two sons dangerously. “You two have been selling love potions to _**students?**_ You KNOW they’re banned at Hogwarts, don’t you?” she growled.

“Well, yeah, but...” Fred began, faltering slightly under his mother’s glare.

“It’s mostly just for girls who want to get thick blokes to notice them,” said George, looking horrified at the notion that a guy might use them with nefarious intent on a girl. “We never thought...”

**“YOU DIDN’T THINK? ... IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN COME UP WITH? ... NEVER, IN ALL MY YEARS ... THOUGHT I’D RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT...”**

“Mum, please...” begged Ron, peering around anxiously at the turning heads in the crowd. 

But Molly was having none of it. Her voice dropped a couple of levels, but was still deadly enough to strike terror into the hearts of her sons.

“Love potions are _**only**_ to be used by consenting adults to spice up a fading love life, or to help couples work through a rough patch!” Molly snarled. “Ginny is absolutely right! We’re heading to your shop right this minute, and you’re going to vanish the bloody lot of it! You two are just lucky that selling love potions to minors is only a fineable offense...”

“But that stuff cost a bloody fortune,” Fred burst out angrily. “You can’t just make us get rid of it!”

George punched Fred’s shoulder and glared at him. Fred was shocked into silence. He couldn’t remember the last time that he and George had disagreed on anything.

“Don’t be stupid!” George snapped at Fred. “The money’s not that important - this isn’t about money, this is about Hermione. She’s practically our sister... and speaking of our sister, what about Ginny? McLaggen could’ve dosed _her_... or... or _Angelina!_ What if McLaggen had dosed Angelina?”

Fred opened his mouth then shut it again, looking appalled at the idea of McLaggen laying a finger on Ginny or Angelina. “I’d kill ‘im. I’d Avada Kedavra him!” Fred muttered.

“Thought so!” said George coldly. He turned back to his mother, shame written all over his face. “You’re right Mum. I’m sorry! We both are... right Fred?” 

Fred nodded vigorously, and George continued.

“We’re idiots! We really _weren’t_ thinking about anything but the money. And...” George swallowed, “and it honestly didn’t seem so bad - the idea of girls using it on guys. I... I guess I reckoned most blokes wouldn’t care too much about getting dosed - getting a bit of free snogging out of the deal...” George trailed off, turning crimson with embarrassment, unable to look Ginny or his mother in the eye at the last bit.

“Well, I’m glad that at least _**one**_ of you has a conscience that can’t be bought with money and knows that Hermione is family!...” snapped Molly, giving Fred another glare. 

“Me too,” said a quiet voice that caught everyone by surprise.

Fred glanced at Hermione’s hurt features and took one look at the cold expression on Harry’s face, and wished he could melt into the ground. He briefly thought of apparating away until he remembered that Platform Nine and Three Quarters had the same anti-apparition wards as Hogwarts...

**~o0o~**

After his moment of panic when Hermione had woken up screaming, Harry hadn’t been all that surprised when Hermione had explained her nightmare to him - it only made sense given the means by which McLaggen had violated her. Harry could only imagine how ghastly it must have been for Hermione to actually tell him the truth; it had been incredibly brave of her. Harry didn’t think that he could have himself in her shoes.

Harry’s heart had shattered into a million tiny little pieces at the desperation and pain in Hermione’s voice and eyes when she had pleaded with him to keep holding her. But at least now he had a clearer understanding of Hermione’s need to be in close physical contact with him despite her ordeal.

Harry was dead tired, not having slept much more than an hour since the night before last, but returning to sleep after being woken by Hermione’s nightmare was almost impossible. He remained awake long after she drifted back into slumber, cuddling her and kissing and stroking her tawny-brown coils of hair as the carriage of the train gently swayed.

Harry couldn’t help a little smile when it occurred to him that he and Hermione were both notorious for their flyaway hair. It almost seemed like another sign that they belonged together. With that comforting thought, Harry finally drifted off again, his cheek resting atop Hermione’s bushy head.

The screeching wheels and lurching carriage jarred Harry awake what seemed like mere moments later; one look out the window told him that they had arrived in King’s Cross. It took a short while to make their way off the train, through the throng of students who had already disembarked. 

Harry’s ears caught a familiar sounding shriek from further down the platform. He couldn’t help letting out a chortle.

“Sounds like Mrs Weasley is already on someone’s case! Who d’you reckon, Hermione? Ron maybe?”

“Don’t be silly Harry.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Ron can’t have managed to annoy her that quick off the mark.”

Harry’s features darkened as he and Hermione drew closer, weaving their way through the crowd. Apparently the Twins had been drawn in by their mother’s shriek as well. 

“Hang on a minute, Hermione,” Harry muttered, holding back when they both heard Ginny snarl, _**“You two!...”**_ at the twins.

Harry and Hermione stood on the platform listening to Ginny, then Mrs Weasley, laying into the Twins. Harry felt a surge of grim satisfaction, but put an arm around Hermione and gave her a comforting squeeze as her face grew redder with mortification at being at the centre of a Weasley family row.

But Harry’s face only grew darker when he noted Fred’s initial dismissiveness, and caught Hermione tearing up and biting her lip. When Mrs Weasley admonished Fred, Harry wholeheartedly agreed, and couldn’t help blurting out, “Me too!”

Every single one of the Weasleys jumped with a start and flushed with embarrassment to see Harry and Hermione both staring at them. Harry eyed Fred looking around wildly for an escape route; George looked mortified.

“Er... How long have you two been standing there?” Ron asked a bit squeakily.

“Long enough,” Harry answered.”You’re okay Ron,” he added quickly. “Thanks Mrs Weasley, Ginny! That was brilliant - you saved me the trouble!”

“I’m _**really**_ sorry, Hermione!” George interjected earnestly, looking her directly in the eye. “I wouldn’t’ve sold any love potions to students if I’d had any idea McLaggen or any other bloke would use them like that - I swear!” 

“Yeah... me neither,” Fred agreed, looking at his feet. 

“It... it’s alright!” said Hermione. “I know you both didn’t really mean me or anyone else to get hurt...” Hermione trailed off, struggling not to cry. 

“...Just try and be a bit more thoughtful in future,” Harry added, giving Fred one last glare. “Anyway, I expect Hermione’s parents are waiting. Sorry to make this so short... er... Happy Christmas then!”

Hermione mumbled, “Happy Christmas,” as well, not trusting herself to say any more without bursting into tears, which she did anyway as Harry led her away from the thoroughly abashed Weasleys. 

Harry found a little alcove on the platform away from the crowds and cuddled Hermione for a few minutes while she sobbed. Finally, Hermione managed to pull herself together.

“Th...thank you Harry,” she sniffled, wiping away her tears with her hanky and giving him a peck on the lips. “I... I think I can manage to meet my parents now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded and smiled wanly, taking a deep breath to steel herself.

“Alright then,” said Harry, not entirely certain that _he_ was ready to meet her parents yet. With an arm around Hermione’s waist, Harry stepped up to the barrier and they both slipped through into the muggle world.

Harry swallowed anxiously when he spotted Hermione’s parents as he emerged with her onto platform number nine. Mr Granger was peering directly at him, eyes narrowing, apparently taking note of Harry’s arm around his daughter’s waist. 

All of a sudden, Harry wished he’d thought to dress in something a bit spiffier than a woolly jumper and jeans with threadbare knees. Mr Granger looked immaculate and a bit intimidating in his suit and tie and perfectly combed dark hair. Mrs Granger looked puzzled, but a bit warmer and more inviting. She had a full head of tawny-brown hair much like her daughter’s, but which had clearly been subjected to some attempts at taming.

“Mum, Dad...” Hermione shouted, beaming, and oblivious to her parents’ expressions. She broke free from Harry and flung herself upon them both.

“Oof!” said Mr Granger with a grin, temporarily distracted from Harry. “That’s the hug I’ve been waiting ages for.”

“Hello dear! I’ve missed you too!” Mrs Granger’s mother laughed at her daughter’s exuberant embrace. “But are you alright? You look like you’ve been crying...”

At that, Mr Granger turned his cooling gaze back on Harry.

“Oh... er... It’s nothing - well, er... it’s not important right now, anyway!” said Hermione, her cheeks turning pink. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”

“Will your friend be joining us for dinner?” Mr Granger asked pointedly. 

“Daddy, you remember Harry don’t you? Harry Potter?”

“You’re one of the boys who saved Hermione from the troll, aren’t you? And the one who posed for pictures with that buffoon in the bookshop?” Mr Granger’s tone was mildly disparaging. Hermione’s mother gave her husband a sharp look of disapproval.

“Er... y...yes sir! Th...that’s me.” Harry stammered, shaking Mr Granger’s hand, trying not to sound put out at the notion that he had deliberately posed with Gilderoy Lockhart, and the fact that Mr Granger seemed not to recall seeing him in King’s Cross at a distance in previous years.

“It’s lovely to meet you properly finally, Harry!” said Mrs Granger with a smile that looked just like Hermione’s as she shook his hand. She glanced at Hermione and asked, “And what happened with your friend Ron? We said hello to the Weasleys a few minutes ago. They all looked a bit out of sorts...”

“Oh... er... just a bit of a mix up,” Hermione said evasively. “They... er... thought Harry would be staying with them for Christmas.”

“Oh? So where is Harry staying for Christmas then? With that rude looking Uncle of his?” asked Mrs Granger. “Er... sorry Harry!” Mrs Granger quickly added, suddenly thinking better of her bluntness.

“No! Quite alright!” said Harry, grinning. He was starting to like Mrs Granger already. “He’s horrible actually...” 

“And I was _hoping_ that Harry could stay with us for Christmas!” said Hermione, fixing her mother with a hard stare.

“Oh!” Mrs Granger glanced at her husband worriedly. “Well... I, er, suppose. We’ve certainly got plenty of room...”

“Yes... plenty of room!” Mr Granger managed a stiff smile which appeared to be hiding gritted teeth. “Well, we’d best be getting on then. It’s getting a bit late... Maybe we should just grab a bite to eat on the way home.”

Mrs Granger smiled and relaxed when it appeared that her husband was going to accept the situation to the best of his ability and behave in a civilised manner as they made their way to the car, which was a very posh looking dark blue Mercedes. 

Her smile evaporated moments later when Mr Granger whispered loudly enough for Harry and Hermione to hear, “Well, I suppose it could be worse, Jean. At least the boy looks reasonably intelligent, unlike her gormless ginger friend...”

“Richard!” gasped Mrs Granger. “Don’t be so rude...”

It was only a twenty minute drive from King’s Cross to Hampstead Garden Suburb through the rainy London streets, and the wait at the fish and chip shop only about ten minutes. 

Harry was feeling pleasantly full by the time they arrived at the Grangers’ house. He knew that Uncle Vernon - who did very well for himself as the Director of Grunnings, a mid-sized firm which made drills - would be green with envy if he could see how well the Grangers were doing for themselves as dentists. The two story brick home was spacious and overlooked Hampstead Heath Extension, in a London suburb that Harry had never been in before.

Harry was tempted to relax as Hermione led him through the verdant front garden by the hand, but he didn’t want to let his guard down. He had a feeling that things were only just beginning again, and for a fleeting moment he considered bolting. 

Hermione’s parents invited Harry and Hermione to the sitting room, where they sat and sipped bottles of fizzy water from Switzerland, chatting amiably enough about the most innocuous of things. Then Hermione cleared her throat, and Harry’s stomach clenched. 

He swallowed nervously and let Hermione cling tightly to his hand while she tried to explain what had happened - starting from the day in the greenhouse and the attempt to invite Ron to Slughorn’s party. 

Harry tried his best to tune everything out by eyeing the Swiss made cuckoo clock on the wall, and the pictures of Hermione and her parents on their holidays to Spain, France, and Switzerland, which sat on nearly every surface. He even managed to ignore the many dirty looks Mr Granger kept shooting him at intervals.

It wasn’t until Hermione’s vice-like grip on Harry’s hand tightened painfully and voices began to rise that Harry was brought crashing back to Earth like a falling satellite.

“...Please! Try to understand, Daddy....” Hermione was nearly in tears.

“I’m trying Hermione, I really am.” Mr Granger’s voice appeared strained to its breaking point. “But this is all just too much for me to take in. Let me get this straight... You went to a party with a boy you don’t like, to make another boy who you don’t really like, jealous...”

“...Because Ron was a complete _**arsehole**_ who ditched me to snog Lavender after he had _**already accepted**_ my invitation to go to the party when I still thought we might have something together, _**yes!”**_ Hermione interjected forcefully, so that her father wouldn’t lose sight of the key plot-point. 

As neither Hermione’s mum or dad seemed inclined to call her on her language at that point; Harry reckoned things were only going from bad to worse. 

Mr Granger kept going as if he hadn’t taken in a word that Hermione had just said. “Then the boy that you _**really**_ didn’t like, slips you a drug which doesn’t knock you out, but only makes you infatuated...”

“Yes! What part don’t you understand?” Hermione sniped, glaring angrily at her father as if he were being deliberately obtuse. Harry rather thought that Hermione’s mother was thinking much the same thing as Hermione, judging by the look on Mrs Granger’s face.

“Well, for starters - going to a party with a boy you don’t like. I thought we taught you better than that...” said Mr Granger, who was struggling to mightily to rein in his temper.

 _“Richard!”_ snapped Mrs Granger, “Don’t be so horrible! Hermione’s been through enough trauma in the last twenty four hours as it is....”

“Trauma? Really, Jean? That’s the other bit I don’t bloody understand! If he’d got Hermione too drunk to say no, or slipped her something that knocked her out, then I’d understand a bit better. But how does an infatuation inducing drug diminish her capacity to say no? By her own account, Hermione’s faculties were still relatively intact. She should have realised something was wrong and just said no!”

Harry almost opened his mouth to angrily interject, but Hermione shot him a warning look.

“It’s not that simple, Richard,” Mrs Granger fumed. “You should know that, being a bloody dentist, with the assortment of drugs readily available to us. Hermione was clearly under the influence of a drug rendering her easily manipulated by the object of her _**false**_ affections...”

“Daddy, listen to Mum, please!” Hermione begged, _**“She**_ understands, why can’t you?”

“Because we don’t have drugs like that in our world, Hermione!” Mr Granger retorted, looking at wits end. “This is just so much for me to wrap my head around! I barely understand all of this irrational, teenage girl nonsense as it is... all this jealousy and intrigue, it’s so unlike you...”

“Richard!” Mrs Granger shouted again. “What is wrong with you? Hermione IS a teenage girl for God’s sake! Don’t you remember what it was like being a teenager? ...”

“I was a teenage _**boy!”**_ Mr Granger shouted back, “I was clueless about teenage girls then, and apparently I still am! I was just bloody lucky to find someone as understanding as _**you!**_...”

That took the wind out of Mrs Granger’s sails for a moment and Mr Granger ploughed on, waving his hands in frustration.

“But whatever!? I’ll just have to accept that I don’t understand teenage girls. What I want to know is how this drug took away Hermione’s free agency while she was wide awake and perfectly aware. We just don’t have anything like that in our world, Jean!”

“Come on, Richard!” Mrs Granger gesticulated wildly in exasperation. “Hermione just explained that she _**wasn’t**_ ‘perfectly aware’ despite being wide awake. And you know perfectly well that new drugs are popping up every day in our world with a dizzying array of new effects which could easily render _**anyone**_ vulnerable to manipulation by someone unscrupulous. Take MDMA - Ecstasy - for example...”

“You mean the drug that all those ravers in the silly cartoon outfits take at electronic music festivals?” 

“Yes... _that_ drug!” Mrs Granger rolled her eyes at her husband.”It lowers inhibitions and strongly stimulates physical arousal and affectionate behaviour. _Anyone_ under the influence is susceptible to being drawn into sexual intercourse with someone who strikes their fancy, whom they might not under ordinary circumstances. 

This _Love Potion #9_ sounds very similar, but it’s clearly keyed to specific individuals by adding DNA strands from the intended victim, and from the perpetrator, and it clearly has even stronger effects, for all intents and purposes making it practically impossible for the victim to refuse intercourse!”

Hermione’s father looked like he was about to cry and finally threw up his hands in despair.

“Okay... Okay! Alright! You’ve convinced me! This McLaggen bloke raped my little girl! I’d bloody murder the kid if I ever got my hands on him, but I can’t... So what the hell do I do about it? What am I supposed to do, Hermione?” Mr Granger pleaded, peering at Hermione who looked just as heartbroken as he was.

“Nothing Daddy!” Hermione said beseechingly. “I already _**told**_ you - it’s already been dealt with! Harry gave McLaggen a black eye and some loose teeth and McLaggen was already arrested sometime earlier today. All _**I**_ need is for _**you**_ to accept that I love Harry and that I need him to be with me.”

“Fine! Alright then! I wash my hands of it!” Mr Granger seemed to deflate slightly, though still looking highly agitated. “I suppose I can take a bit of comfort in the fact that Harry beat the snot out of this McLaggen creep!”

“Richard!” gasped Mrs Granger, half-smiling. “You’re not supposed to be encouraging violence.” But Mrs Granger couldn’t help shooting Harry an exceedingly grateful look nonetheless. “Anyway, Richard, the kids look a wreck, and Hermione’s been through Hell and back. Why don’t we call it a night and start tomorrow fresh - Harry, I’ll show you to the spare-room...”

“No! Harry’s sleeping in my room with me!” Hermione stated firmly. 

Mrs Granger groaned and palmed her face with both hands, waiting for her husband to blow his stack again. Mr Granger was momentarily stunned into silence.

“Er... I am?” said Harry, gulping as his eyes turned into saucers.

“Yes! You promised to cuddle me!”

“Er... Right, of course Hermione!” Harry said quickly.

“GAAAH!!!” Hermione’s father howled. “A boy rapes you, and you’re telling me that expect me to let another boy sleep in your room? Bloody Hell Hermione! I don’t understand you! I just don’t understand!...”

“Dear, please calm down!” Mrs Granger begged. “You’re upsetting Hermione again - after all she’s been through...”

_**“I won’t calm down! I won’t! I refuse to calm down! I’m not having this in my house! ...”** _

“Look,” shouted Hermione, “I _**need**_ Harry to be close to me as much as possible to help me get that bastard’s face out of my skull - that’s the _**only**_ way I’m going to heal from this! I’ve tried to explain that as best as I can. And... and if you can’t deal with it, then I’m off! Harry’s got a place in London I can stay at...”

“I do?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up under his fringe in bewilderment. Hermione gave him a look. 

Harry groaned. Of course. “Oh... er... yeah! I forgot! My Godfather’s place! He... er, died and left it to me. It’s not far - in the Islington District! Hermione will be perfectly safe there, I promise!”

“Well, maybe that’s for the best then,” said Mr Granger angrily.

“Darling, you can’t possibly mean that!” Jean Granger gave her husband a pleading look. 

Richard Granger paced back and forth tearing at his already thinning hair and returned his wife’s gaze with an anguished look of his own, his eyes glistening wetly.

“Well what do you want from me?” Mr Granger’s voice broke. “Hermione’s all grown up and there’s nothing I can do to protect her. She’s better off with _**their**_ lot now...”

 _ **“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here! ... like I'm already gone!”**_ Hermione shrieked, tears streaking her glowing cheeks. “Talk to ME! I didn’t come home to be looked after, or because I needed protection - Harry and I are perfectly capable of protecting each other - I came home because I LOVE YOU! Don’t you get it?”

“Okay!” said Mr Granger in a small voice, deflating liking a punctured balloon and looking utterly defeated. “Okay! I’m sorry Hermione! I’m sorry... I just... this is... I’m sorry! I love you too! I love you so much it makes me crazy to know that you’re all grown up and part of a world that I’ll never really be able to understand!” 

Mr Granger peered at Harry earnestly. “Harry - just promise me you’ll continue looking after Hermione! Please!”

“Of... of course I will, Mr Granger!” Harry’s own eyes were stinging with tears now. “I promise! Hermione means the world to me!”

“Thank you Harry!... Thank you! That’s the best a father can hope for in the end, really!”

“Alright Richard,” said Hermione’s mother, looking very relieved at the outcome. “I think poor Harry’s had about as much as he can take - he looks positively terrified. I think it’s time we all went to bed... Now who wants some hot cocoa? And there are sedatives in the medicine cabinet if anyone wants some.” 

“Cocoa will be fine Mum,” said Hermione gratefully, wiping away her tears with a hanky. “Madam Pomfrey gave me a whole load of calming draughts and sleeping potions to bring home in case I needed them. They’ve got a lot less potential for addiction, and if you and Dad want a vial or two yourselves, you’re welcome to have some.”

“Actually, that... that sounds nice, Hermione.” Mr Granger smiled wanly at her as he rubbed at his own eyes. “I think I would like to try one.”

Soon everyone had steaming cups of cocoa in their hands, and Mr Granger was looking much better after a calming draught. 

But Harry was still in such a state that he didn’t realise how true Mrs Granger’s words had been until he found himself in Hermione’s room, looking into a mirror on her armoire. Harry was pale and clammy, and badly shaking.

“Blimey Hermione,” Harry muttered, “I’ve never... I mean... Bloody Hell! I’ve dealt with angry Dursleys, and Weasley family rows. I’ve put up with Snape and Malfoy! ... I’ve faced Dragons, and Basilisks and Dementors, and fought Voldy multiple times... But that was something else...”

“I’m so sorry Harry,” said Hermione earnestly as she passed him two vials of calming draught. “Here, swallow these! ... But _**now**_ you can see why I can’t tell my parents too much about the wizard world or Voldemort...”

“You weren’t bloody joking!” Harry agreed, downing first one, then the second vial of calming draught.

Harry was too knackered and emotionally drained to explore much of Hermione’s room. But as the draughts began to kick in, he took note of the poster on the wall of Einstein with his tongue sticking out, and the piles of science and history books on Hermione’s bookshelves. And as he collapsed on Hermione’s bed, he spotted the stuffed furry animals - mostly cats - and the fairy and unicorn ornaments - the only real indications that a teenage girl might live in the room.

Harry was passed out by the time Hermione returned from the loo dressed in a _Hello Kitty_ nightie which she would have never dared to take to Hogwarts. 

Hermione bit her lip and smiled tearily at Harry; he looked so peaceful as he slept. Having already taken a calming draught herself, Hermione snuggled up next to Harry, curling an arm around his waist. She took a few deep whiffs, hoping that her dreams would be of Harry instead... 


	4. White Christmas

As she sat at the heavy oak table in the kitchen of Number Twelve, wondering what the hell she was doing with her life, the girl with spiky bubblegum pink hair moodily poked her cold cup of tea with her wand and it started to bubble. She poked it again and turned it to ice. Tonks bit her lip and scowled, thinking that maybe it was just time to give up and move on.

Maybe Remus was right! Maybe he was too old for her - most of her girl friends seemed to think so. 

Hell, Remus wasn’t even really her type - for the most part. Tonks was more accustomed to romantic engagements with members of her own gender than she was with blokes, though she had had a fling with a guy briefly at Hogwarts before she had fallen madly for a girl. And she had to admit that she’d had a bit of a crush on Harry Potter since she’d met him - there was something about his pretty green eyes that just pulled her in. 

Harry’s feminine eyes easily explained why she had found him attractive. Tonks wasn’t entirely certain why she was so besotted with Remus. There was just something about Remus - a softness about him - an innate kindness which she found extremely appealing. 

Tonks poked her cup of tea with her wand again; the ice melted and started to bubble once more.

“You’ll go blind if you keep playin’ with yer wand like that...”

Tonks nearly fell out of her seat and glowered at the intruder. “Bloody ‘ell Mad Eye! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she grumbled.

“Heh! Just keepin’ you on your toes, Tonks,” the grizzled ex-Auror chuckled. “Yeh need t’stay sharp - keep your wits about you - constant vigilance...”

“Leave me alone Mad Eye! I’m not in the mood...”

“Too bad, Missy!” Mad Eye growled. “I gotta new job for us. Molly sent me a message. Seems like Potter’s stayin’ with Granger for Christmas instead o’ the Weasleys. And there’s no Protection Charms up at the Grangers’ place, so our work’s cut out for us...”

Tonks’s features brightened a bit at the idea of guarding Harry and Hermione, hoping she’d get a chance to spend a bit of time with them over the Christmas holidays. She wondered if they’d finally hooked up; they just seemed so natural together... not to mention that she could really use the extra ten galleons that she’d bet Mad Eye that they’d end up together.

“As long as we don’t ‘ave to rely on ‘Dung, we should be alright!” said Tonks, putting that thought aside. “Bloody bollocksed it all up the last time we put ‘im on guard duty!”

“Too right yeh are!” Mad Eye agreed. “We won’t be makin’ that mistake again. Anyway, I spoke with Dumbledore - seems this is the first he’s heard of it. Though he wasn’t too surprised considerin’ what happened last night an’ this morning...”

“What’s that then? What happened?” asked Tonks, interrupting Mad Eye with a frown.

Mad Eye hesitated, suddenly realising that he was treading on dangerous ground, given Tonks’s history. But it was too late; he had to tell her now.

“Seems some kid named McLaggen dosed Granger with a love potion last night at Slughorn’s Christmas Party and raped her...” Mad Eye began warily.

“WHAT?” Tonks leapt out of her seat, eyes bulging and sparks shooting from the tip of her wand as her hair flouresced brightly and turned crimson. “I’ll bloody rip the bastard’s balls off! Where is ‘e? ...”

“Calm down Tonks! It’s already handled. Potter already beat the crap outta him and McLaggen’s sittin’ in a Ministry holding cell for the time being...”

“He should be bloody castrated if you ask me!” Tonks fumed, vibrating angrily. 

Mad Eye couldn’t help letting out a sardonic chuckle. 

“Well McLaggen’s lucky nobody’s askin’ you then! ... And his cell is being guarded ‘round the clock, so don’t go gettin’ any ideas,” he added pointedly, his magical eye boring into Tonks. “Anyway, pull yourself together Tonks, and get your head in the game. Dumbledore’s counting on us to keep Potter and the Grangers’ safe, and to throw some wards up around the Grangers’ place...”

**~o0o~**

Hermione woke with a start in the middle of the night and bolted upright, her heart pounding against the wall of her heaving chest as she trembled and clapped a hand to her mouth, hoping that she hadn’t screamed this time. The last thing she wanted to do was wake her father with Harry in her room. The glowing blue numbers on her alarm clock indicated it was nearly four a.m.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she glanced at Harry who was stirring beside her.

“You alright, Hermione?” Harry murmured, as he rubbed his concerned looking eyes. Hermione nodded.

“I... I think so! Did I scream?”

“No... I only woke up because you moved.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Good! That’s good! It... it wasn’t _quite_ as awful this time... I could tell I was dreaming this time - it wasn’t quite so real, and... and his face, it, er... was a bit blurrier...” 

Hermione trailed off, glad that the darkness hid her crimson cheeks, not quite sure how to tell Harry that there had been a moment at the very beginning which had seemed very real indeed. She was more certain than ever that her self-prescribed method of healing was starting to have an effect, though she had no idea how long it would take. Weeks? Months? 

There was really no way to be sure. All Hermione was absolutely sure of was that when the nice bit of the dream - the part which felt the most intensely real - the part with Harry in it - when that bit of the dream eventually replaced the nightmare, Hermione knew she would be ready to move on. 

As Harry anxiously returned Hermione’s gaze - her eyes shining wetly in the pale blue luminescence of her alarm clock - he felt an overwhelming, almost unbearable yearning. The words Hermione had spoken to her father echoed in his skull, _“...All I need is for you to accept that I love Harry...”_ reminding Harry that Hermione had been the only one to ever send him letters signed, _“with love.”_

“I love you Hermione,” slipped quietly from Harry’s mouth before he even realised what he was saying, but he knew he meant it from the bottom of his heart, and wondered why he’d never said it before.

A smile crept to Hermione’s lips and her glistening eyelashes fluttered shyly.

“I love you too, Harry,” she whispered back, leaning over Harry and pressing her lips tenderly to his...

**~o0o~**

When Harry next woke, the first thing he saw was a blur of gold shining from the tawny locks spilling across his shoulder and upper chest, caught as they were in the rays of the cold winter sun beaming through Hermione’s window. Apparently London was experiencing a bit of respite from the rain this morning.

Harry could barely move with Hermione sprawled across his torso, both arms curled tightly around him. He lifted his head as much as he dared, trying not to wake Hermione, and saw that it was well after nine a.m. now. Hermione’s parents must have decided to let her sleep in as much as needed, and Harry was inclined to do so himself. The only problem was that Harry really needed to use the lavatory.

Resigning himself to the situation, Harry willed his urge to go into submission. He gently kissed Hermione’s bushy head and lay there wide awake for another hour before Hermione finally began stirring. But now that release from Hermione’s clutches was in near sight, Harry realised that he had another serious problem. 

How was he supposed to hide the clear tent in his jeans? Besides his own personal embarrassment, Harry didn’t want to subject Hermione to a sight which would surely be a hideous reminder of her experience. While Hermione began yawning and blinking her eyes, Harry desperately tried to will his arousal into submission as he had his previous urge, but unlike his previous urge his arousal refused to submit.

Maybe he could make a run for it, make a mad dash to the bathroom before Hermione caught a glimpse. But Hermione’s languid awakening seemed to drag on and she appeared to have no intentions of releasing Harry just yet.

Hermione smiled and fluttered her eyelashes shyly again, as she had during the night. 

“Good Morning Harry.”

“Er... ‘Morning Hermione,” Harry squeaked, grinning nervously, hoping that her eyes would remain fixed in their current direction. But he was betrayed by his reddening features.

“Are you alright Harry?” asked Hermione, suddenly looking a bit anxious, as if she were afraid that he was trying to escape.

“Never better!” he lied. “I just need to... er... use the loo.” 

Well, that last bit wasn’t a fib at least, and Harry was relieved to see Hermione’s features brighten again.

“Oh... of course Harry! Sorry!” 

Harry scrambled off the bed and darted towards Hermione’s door when she moved to let him up. His face blazed like a campfire, realising that he had failed miserably at hiding the bulge in his jeans when he heard Hermione’s nervous little giggle behind him. 

He felt only slightly better when he finally returned to Hermione’s room, and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes, casting his own down in shame. 

“Er... sorry about that Hermione! I... er...”

“Don’t be silly Harry...” Hermione inexplicably beamed. “It’s quite alright! Erections are a perfectly normal physiological response,” she said wickedly as she gave Harry a peck on the lips on her way to use the lavatory herself.

Blimey! Was Hermione _trying_ to give him a heart attack? 

Still, Hermione’s teasing cheered Harry right up, and by the time she returned, showered, dressed, and smelling of spearmint toothpaste and strawberry shower-gel, Harry was quite relaxed and sitting on her bed trying to wrap his mind around the ideas in a very interesting book he’d found on her bookshelf called _The Holographic Universe_. It almost seemed to explain how magic might work from a scientific point of view. Harry glanced up to see Hermione looking quite impressed.

“That’s a really fascinating book,” said Hermione. “It’s a bit New Agey, but it’s a good overview of some cutting edge ideas in the field of Quantum Physics written for people without a strong science background. But it’s _also_ a great place to start for someone more accustomed to a rational, scientific view of the world who is trying to understand how magic could be real.”

“Yeah...” Harry nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “That’s what I was thinking too. It’s really cool. The explanations aren’t too difficult to understand - and the diagrams really help loads...”

Hermione eyed Harry thoughtfully for a moment. It suddenly struck her that Harry was a very visual learner. 

“...I wish I’d taken more interesting classes like you, Hermione,” Harry sighed. “How am I ever supposed to defeat an evil genius like Voldemort with rubbish like Divination? I’m such an idiot! I think I’m going to quit quidditch and just focus on learning as much magic as possible from now on...”

Hermione felt her eyes stinging. Harry loved quidditch, and she couldn’t help feeling sad that he was considering giving it up, despite her own feelings about it as a very dangerous sport.

“You don’t have to give up quidditch Harry,” she said. “I’ll help you... Besides, you’re much better in important classes like Charms and Transfiguration than you give yourself credit for. You would have got more Outstandings on your OWL’s if you weren’t so distracted by everything else going on in Fifth Year...”

“Really?” Harry gave Hermione a skeptical look. “You’re not just saying that because we’re together now?”

“No!” Hermione shook her head vigorously. “I mean it Harry! You’re smarter than you think you are, and you actually put some effort in when you have the opportunity. You have to be brilliant at Charms to be as good as you are in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the only reason you didn’t do better in Transfiguration is because it requires more focus and discipline to understand the theory than you had the time or energy for last year.

“And...” Hermione swallowed anxiously, her voice getting smaller. “And I think you’d be a Potions Genius by now if Snape hadn’t treated you so horribly all those years...”

“Come off it! You’re joking...”

“No, I’m not.” Hermione peered at Harry earnestly, steeling herself. “I... I’m really, really sorry for how I’ve been treating you about the Potions book, Harry. I was just really jealous of the ‘Half-Blood Prince,’ and the fact that you were using his or her notes to do well in class instead of _**my**_ notes...”

Harry gaped in surprise at Hermione’s frank admission. 

“It’s obvious that he or she was an extraordinary potioneer,” Hermione went on, “and I truly believe that you could have been just as brilliant at Potions by now if you’d been given a chance and a bit of encouragement. I... I hope you can forgive me Harry!” 

Harry was stunned; it was hard to wrap his head around. Hermione thought he was smart - not just smart, but smart enough that he could be a Charms Genius and a Potions Whiz if he’d had a chance! Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling awful again and thinking that Hermione was seeing more to him than there really was.

“Of course I forgive you, Hermione,” Harry muttered, flushing guiltily. “I... I just hope you can forgive _**me!**_ I spent nearly an hour looking for you by myself after the party. Then when I got back to the Common Room, hoping you’d be there, I got in a fight with Ron because he didn’t seem to care or want to help me find you. I was so angry... I... I forgot about the Marauders’ Map.

“I should have woken a professor up to help me find you, or... or done _**something,**_ instead of waiting for you in the Common Room losing my marbles. I’m so sorry Hermione! I’m an idiot... I’m a fucking moron!”

Hermione bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes to see Harry looking so abject and full of self-doubt and loathing.

“You’re not, Harry! You’re _**not**_ a moron!” she adamantly proclaimed. “Don’t say that about yourself! We _**all**_ let our anger get the best of us and make us do stupid things sometimes... That’s how I ended up at the party with McLaggen instead of _**you!**_ I was so angry at Ron, I didn’t think of asking you to be my date to the party instead.

“Besides, you’d just seen Snape apparently offering to help Malfoy kill someone. You weren’t exactly in the right frame of mind to be trusting any professors, or anyone else really, at that point. You were beside yourself! 

“It’s not surprising in the least that you only wanted someone that you thought you could trust to help you, or forgot about the Map. Don’t blame yourself Harry... please don’t! It wasn’t your fault at all...”

Harry tried very hard to believe Hermione, but he couldn’t. Hermione could see the struggle in his pooling green eyes to accept it, and knew what he really needed to hear.

“I forgive you, Harry!” she said quietly. “I do! I forgive you! Please believe me!”

Finally Harry nodded and let out a little sigh, smiling wanly at Hermione.

“Thanks Hermione! I dunno what I did to deserve someone as brilliant as you...”

“You saved me from a troll.” Hermione smiled back, taking Harry’s hands and pulling him closer. “And that was just for starters...” 

Hermione drew even nearer and Harry leaned forward to meet her lips with his own. The kiss grew deeper and steamier as their arms entwined around one another. They were both too engaged to hear the footsteps on the stairs. It was only when they heard a clearing throat that they both fell apart, blushing furiously.

Mr Granger rubbed at his forehead, looking embarrassed and slightly agitated at catching them in mid-snog, but appearing relieved to see Harry still in the clothes he’d arrived in last night.

“Er... How about a late breakfast, you two? Your mum and I have already eaten, Hermione, but she’s ready to make some more for you both if you’d like.”

“Er...” Harry began.

“That sounds lovely, Daddy!” said Hermione. “Just tell Mum that Harry needs a shower and a change of clothes. We’ll be right down.”

“Right!” Mr Granger nodded, sharing another awkward look with Harry. “See you both in a minute then.”

**~o0o~**

Harry was grateful that the Grangers’ seemed just as fond of a proper fry-up of a breakfast as most Britons, despite their penchant for sugar-free sweets and drinks, and pleased to see that being sugar-free didn’t extend to orange juice at least. He and Hermione both dug into their eggs, bacon, sausage, and crumpets with abandon, much to Mrs Granger’s delight.

Harry and Hermione were both cheerfully washing and drying dishes in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Mr Granger glanced up from his copy of _The Guardian_ as his wife went to see who it was. 

“Hello, can I help you?” Mrs Granger’s voice carried from the foyer into the kitchen. 

“Er... Mrs Granger?” A vaguely familiar voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Are Harry and Hermione available?”

“I’m sorry. Do they know you? Whom should I say is calling?”

“Oh... er... Sorry, Ma’am! Yeah... I’m Tonks. A friend of Harry’s...”

“Oh!” Mrs Granger’s voice took on a distinctly cooler tone. 

“...Cousin I mean!” Tonks added quickly. “I’m sorta Harry’s cousin...” 

Harry and Hermione quickly dried their hands and dashed to the front door to save Tonks from any further embarrassment. Looking rather flustered, Tonks let out a sigh of relief to see them both. 

“Wotcher Harry, Hermione.”

“Hi Tonks!” Harry grinned.

“It’s alright Mum,” said Hermione. “She’s Harry’s Godfather’s younger cousin...”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Mrs Granger. She brightened considerably when it seemed that the spiky-purple-haired teenage girl wearing a ripped T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of _The Clash_ wasn’t her daughter’s rival for Harry’s affections. “Please, come in dear. So, do you go to Hogwarts too then?”

“Graduated some years back, Ma’am. I’m older than I look... I’ll be twenty four in January. Though, I do sorta work for Dumbledore these days...”

“Hello, who’s this then?” asked Mr Granger, who had just appeared with his newspaper tucked under his arm.

Tonks turned a bit pink again, wearing a slightly intimidated expression that reminded Harry very much of his own when he’d first met Hermione’s impeccably groomed father properly, yesterday.

“Name’s Tonks sir. I’m sorta Harry’s cousin - his Godfather’s younger cousin... first cousin once removed... or second cousin... I dunno! My mum was Sirius’s first cousin... Blimey! I can never keep thatsortathingstraight....” Tonks trailed off, mumbling, her face blazing with embarrassment.

“Oh, well, nice to meet you Tonks,” said Mr Granger politely. “I take it you’re making a holiday call then? Would you like some tea?”

“Er... thank you, but that’s okay. I shan’t be too long today - just a quick visit - though I wouldn’t mind hanging around with Harry and Hermione a bit this Christmas, if... if that’s alright?” Tonks glanced at Harry and Hermione.

“Of course it’s alright, Tonks,” said Hermione quickly, biting her lip sadly. She felt just as bad for Tonks since Sirius’s death as Harry did.

“Yeah, we’d love to have you over, Tonks,” Harry agreed, “if Hermione’s parents don’t mind, that is.” 

“Not at all,” said Mrs Granger kindly, as she started adding two and two together in her head. “Christmas is time for family. Of course you can visit with Harry. I take it your Godfather’s death was fairly recent, then, Harry?”

“Er... Yeah! Not so long ago,” said Harry, sounding slightly hoarse. “The end of last school-term, before the summer holiday... Anyway, thanks Mrs Granger. It’ll be nice to hang out with Tonks for Christmas.”

“Yeah! Thanks loads, guys!” Tonks beamed, her hair brightening. 

“Come along then, dear,” Mrs Granger said to her husband. “Why don’t we let Harry and Hermione and Tonks catch up on things!”

Mr and Mrs Granger returned to the kitchen as Hermione led Harry and Tonks upstairs to her room for a bit more privacy. 

Tonks peered around Hermione’s room with almost as much interest as Harry had last night. Tonks chortled at the poster of Einstein, and grinned when she spotted all of the stuffed animals; she knew it - Hermione was a real softy underneath that brainy exterior. 

“Cor - nice room Hermione,” said Tonks, feeling a bit more cheered than she had in months. 

“Thank you Tonks!” Hermione beamed, pleased to see Tonks looking a bit less morose than she had been recently. 

Out of the corner of her Auror’s trained eye, Tonks caught sight of an open rucksack by Hermione’s bed with a t-shirt perched near the top which she had seen Harry wearing on more than one occasion. Tonks tried to hide her smirk, feeling a swell of happiness for Harry and Hermione.

“Oi, you know what, Hermione? Your mum is right about family - and you and Harry feel more like family to me... Enough with the Tonks stuff. That’s just for people I work with and casual friends. Call me Dora from now on alright - both of you.” 

“Oh, er, are you sure?” asked Harry. “I thought you didn’t like your first name.”

“Yeah, well, Nymphadora makes me sound sleazy - like some tart ‘oo poses for _Naughty Witches_ magazine! What self-respectin’ person would like a name like that? ... I dunno what the hell my mum was thinking! She’s the only one who calls me by my full name even though she bloody knows I hate it! 

“But Dad always called me Dora, and I like that. And I only ever let my girlfriends or boyfriends call me Dora usually, and Sirius too when the rest of the Order wasn’t around.”

“Right then! Dora it is,” said Harry, grinning. “So... er... I’m guessing that this isn’t strictly a social call today though. What’s up, Dora?”

“Yeah, well it’s a bit of both really!” Dora replied, looking slightly embarrassed. “I would’ve come around anyway, once I heard about McLaggen... I’m really sorry Hermione! That’s really ‘orrible what happened to you!” 

There was a pained look in Dora’s eye that suggested there was a bit more behind her sympathy for Hermione’s ordeal, but then she turned to Harry and grinned. 

“And good for you, Harry! Mad Eye told me he heard that you gave McLaggen a good thrashing! I thought about paying that bastard a visit in his holding cell at the Ministry myself, but Mad Eye wouldn’t let me.

“Anyway, the _other_ reason I’m round here is because you’re not at the Weasleys,’ where there’s loads of wizards and Protection Charms up. As soon as Molly told Mad Eye you were here instead of there, Mad Eye spoke to Dumbledore... and so Mad Eye and me are gonna be on guard duty and throwing up a load of wards here too.

“And there’s just one other thing that Dumbledore suggested that he thought would be helpful seeing as Harry is still underage...” Dora reached into one of the pockets of her jeans and retrieved what looked like a stamp with a Ministry Seal on it, then she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a Ministry Parchment with Harry’s full name on it.

“What’s that?” asked Harry, his brow furrowing.

 _ **“This,**_ Harry, is your freedom!” Dora grinned at Harry again. “I ‘ad to sneak into the Child Services Department at the Ministry late last night to find this... It’s an Emancipation Form for you, Harry. As soon as I stamp it, that’s it, no more Trace for you... 

“You’ll be just as free to perform magic without being tracked by the Ministry as Hermione or any other wizard who’s seventeen or over.”

Hermione gasped.

“Are you kidding?” said Harry, suddenly feeling a bit weak at the knees. “This is a joke, right?” 

“Nope! According to Mad Eye, Dumbledore says it’s a Christmas Present for you, to make up a little bit for some of the rubbish he’s put you through, and so you can protect yourself outside of school without worryin’ about Scrimgeour’s lot runnin’ you down...”

Harry swallowed, feeling a surge of nervous excitement. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Dumbledore was really trying to make good on his promises; Harry had been willing to give him one more chance, but he hadn’t been so sure that Dumbledore would follow through. And this... emancipation was beyond all expectations.

Dora placed the Emancipation Form on Hermione’s mahogany desk and lifted the stamp dramatically. 

“Drum roll please!” she said to Hermione with a wink. 

Hermione was all too eager to comply. Grinning, Hermione tapped out a rhythm on her desk... and the stamp in Dora’s hand slammed onto the form. When Dora lifted her hand once more, the form was emblazoned with the Golden Seal of the Ministry, which seemed to briefly glow before the luminescence faded. 

“Er... is that it?” asked Harry. “I don’t feel any different. Shouldn’t I feel different?”

“It’s not something you really notice,” said Dora. “But once it’s gone, it’s really gone, and it can’t be put back on you. You’re free Harry. Go on... try a spell. You’re fine as long as I’m here anyway - me being an Auror and all.”

Harry felt his breath quickening as he wondered what spell he ought to try. He felt like casting his Patronus, but that seemed a bit too big of a spell; Hermione’s parents would probably be alarmed if a glowing stag rampaged through their house. Something small and simple would be best. 

Then it occurred to him. The first spell which had got him in trouble with the Ministry - a spell which he himself hadn’t performed at all. If he could cast a Hover Charm without receiving a Ministry warning half an hour later, Harry could be certain that he was free. 

Harry pointed his wand at his rucksack, and it rose about a metre from the floor, where it hovered for a minute before he released the spell. Then he, Hermione, and Dora spent the next forty minutes listening to a cd which Dora had selected from Hermione’s collection. 

“Usually I prefer something with a little more oomph,” said Dora when she found a cd to her liking. “But this’ll do. She’s a witch you know, and she’s better than Celestina Warbeck any day of the week...”

The soothing buzz of gentle synthesizers and Enya’s lilting voice filled the air while they waited for a Ministry Warning which never arrived. Hermione squealed when the cd was finished and flung her arms around Harry, squeezing him tightly.

“Oh Harry! This is wonderful! I’m so happy for you!” squeaked Hermione. 

“Blimey! I can’t believe it!” Harry couldn’t stop grinning. “This is bloody brilliant! Thanks loads Dora! I hope you don’t get in trouble at the Ministry for this!”

“Nah!” said Dora, beaming at Harry’s excitement. “Even if anyone found out, the worst they could do is sack me! And to be honest, I really don’t care. I’m not a big fan of working for the Ministry at the moment with the lot who are in charge... The only real reason I’m still there is for the Order, really.”

**~o0o~**

The next few days were among the happiest that Harry could recall in quite some time, and Hermione’s spirits were greatly lifted as well. For a few shining moments of joy, Harry was able to almost forget the weight of the world which he bore on his shoulders.

Hermione found it difficult to be depressed or dwell on the recent turn her life had taken at Hogwarts and the darkness which haunted her dreams, with an exuberant, Trace free Harry at her side. Indeed, each night Hermione’s nightmares shortened and faded, becoming more and more like a nasty scab - painful, but bearable with the knowledge that it would eventually fall away.

And Dora - Harry and Hermione’s “secret escort” - she couldn’t be happier for the welcome respite from her own darkened mood of unrequited love. The day following her first visit, she and Moody led an excursion to Diagon Alley for a last minute bit of Christmas Shopping. 

Diagon Alley was slightly less dismal with Christmas decorations up, holly wreaths hanging from lanterns and colourful displays in the windows of shops which remained open. Hermione made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts, and Harry was perfectly happy to oblige. 

Harry browsed the bookshop cheerfully, determined not only to find Hermione the perfect gift, but also to find something to help advance his own knowledge. Two books caught his eye. Taking advantage of the fact that Hermione had her head buried in a book which appeared to be written in French, Harry snuck up to the counter to purchase the books he’d found for her, and have them gift-wrapped; he also bought some comics and a graphic novel for Dora, knowing how much she liked cartoons.

Harry returned to browse a bit more, leaving his initial purchase up at the counter. He was perusing the aisle of schoolbooks, looking at some Third Year texts, trying to decide which subject to try and catch up on when Hermione found him.

“What are you doing Harry?” 

“I really want to learn more,” Harry muttered, “I’m sick of doing useless stuff like Divination...”

“Well, you don’t really need to waste your money on schoolbooks from previous years, Harry,” Hermione pointed out, quivering with excitement at Harry’s eagerness. “There’re always spares at school, and you can read mine when we’re at home. ... Anyway, if you really want to try something new, I’d recommend Ancient Runes. You’ll find loads of useful stuff applicable to defensive magic. And I’m more than happy to help you learn it.”

“Brilliant!” Harry grinned. “Thanks Hermione...”

“Anyway,” Hermione interjected, eyes gleaming, and bouncing on her toes as she clutched the book in her hands tightly to her chest, “I’ve found something for you! I know presents are usually supposed to be a surprise, but I just HAVE to show you... I just wish I’d thought of looking for something like this last year when you were having such an awful time with Snape...”

Hermione held out the book for Harry to see and his stomach clenched, making him feel slightly nauseous, when he read the title, _Occlumency and Legilimency: Unveiling the Mysteries of the Mind_. He didn’t want to upset Hermione when she looked so thrilled, and he tried to think how to carefully word his feelings. Finally he just decided to be straightforward about it.

“Er... I’m sorry Hermione, but you know I hate Occlumency don’t you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Only because Snape wasn’t teaching you properly. Snape is the _**last person in the world**_ who should have been teaching you, Harry. You need to be able to control your emotions to be good at it, and Snape can’t control his feelings about you, any more than you can control your feelings about him. 

“Snape’s mind would have been _**just**_ as vulnerable to invasion as yours was after your sessions together. And frankly Harry, you should be jolly good at Occlumency once you get the hang of it - because of your incredible strength of Will. You were able to shrug off the Imperius Curse completely after only a few tries when the fake Professor Moody put you under last year in class. That’s _precisely_ the sort of skill you need to master Occlumency and Legilimency!”

“Oh! Er... Wow!” Harry’s eyebrows shot up. Then he gnawed on his lower lip as his face reddened. 

“Er... the only thing is, Hermione, as much as I hate this bloody connection to Voldy - it hurts like hell for one thing - it’s jolly useful knowing what he’s thinking about and doing,” Harry admitted ruefully.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she looked even more excited, if that was possible.

“That’s why you need to learn Legilimency _**too,**_ Harry! You’ll be able to block Voldemort from your mind with Occlumency, but you’ll be able to get a much better look into _**his**_ mind with Legilimency!”

Harry’s jaw dropped. 

“Wow!” he said again after his brain processed that stunning bit of news. “That’s fantastic, Hermione! Thank you! That’s the best gift I could possibly think of...”

Hermione beamed and pulled Harry into a tight hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You won’t regret it, Harry,” she whispered in his ear. “I promise!”

The next stop on their jaunt around Diagon Alley was Scribbulus Writing Instruments for the calligraphy brushes and special ink required for Ancient Runes. “...And you don’t need chisels for doing Rune-work on stone, as all you need is your wand for that...” Hermione told Harry.

Finally, they ended up at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, to reassure Fred and George that all was forgiven and there were no hard feelings, but the Twins were nowhere to be found. Verity the shop-clerk told Harry and Hermione that they were taking the week off for Christmas. 

And much to Harry and Hermione’s great pleasure - and Dora’s as well, for that matter - there wasn’t a single bottle of love potion in sight; in place of the sign which had previously been over the display was an enormous poster - a Public Service message warning of the dangers of the illegal use of love potions, and directions urging wizards and witches to contact the DMLE to report any signs of such illegal use.

“Good for the Twins. That makes up for their part a bit,” Dora muttered. “Could use a few more posters around like that if you ask me.”

Harry and Hermione couldn’t agree more.

Back at home, Hermione’s parents were thrilled to see Hermione’s improved mood over the remaining days before Christmas, and Mr Granger and Harry gradually found themselves feeling a bit less awkward around each other. Except for one instance in particular. Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously when they overheard Mr Granger whispering to Mrs Granger his hopes that Harry would one day - in the future - ask his permission to marry Hermione.

When Christmas Day finally arrived, it couldn’t have been more perfect. Harry and the Grangers woke up to find the garden blanketed in white and snowflakes swirling steadily down from pearly-grey skies above.

And under the twinkling Christmas Tree amidst the pile of presents were enormous stockings containing the usual assortment of gifts that Harry and Hermione had grown accustomed to receiving from the Weasleys.

Hermione carefully unwrapped one of the presents from Harry, wondering what on earth had possessed him to buy such an enormous book. She gasped with shock and her hands began trembling slightly when she saw that it was over three hundred and fifty years old.

“What is it dear?” asked her mother when Hermione took a deep whiff of the aged rusty-red leather binding and traced her fingers along the gold embossed lettering. 

Too speechless for words, Hermione handed the book to her mother before wrapping her arms tightly around Harry and whispering in his ear, “Thank you Harry! It’s lovely!”

“I hope it makes up a bit for all the stupid presents I ever got you,” Harry murmured back. 

Hermione giggled and gave him a peck on the lips. “Don’t be silly Harry! I treasure every gift you’ve given me...”

Harry and Hermione both grinned at the stunned expressions on her parents’ faces as they examined the heavy ancient tome which bore the title, _Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies: The Illuminated Wizarding Edition_. They both looked up at Harry, wondering just how well off he was. 

Mr Granger simply couldn’t help himself. “This... this must’ve cost a fortune, Harry. Non-magical editions of Shakespeare’s works from this era go for millions of pounds at auction...” he said weakly.

“Er...” Harry flushed with embarrassment. “I... er... I didn’t know that! It... it was a _bit_ expensive I suppose, but not being a wizard, Shakespeare isn’t in very high demand in the wizard world...”

Mr Granger couldn’t help being curious as to the actual cost, but he knew that it would be rude to press further and decided to maybe ask Harry some other time. Mrs Granger peered at Harry thoughtfully.

“We named Hermione after the queen in _The Winter’s Tale_ , did you know that, Harry?”

Harry glanced at Hermione’s reddening features in surprise. “Er... no! I didn’t know that either.” 

“Well, it’s not the sort of thing that comes up in casual conversation, is it!?” Hermione squeaked, sounding a bit defensive.

Harry grinned. “No, it’s not. Very true Hermione! But I always knew that somehow you were royalty. Just to think, Malfoy should’ve been bowing and scraping at _your_ feet...”

“Oh shut up!” said Hermione half-heartedly, blushing furiously, but unable to help looking extremely pleased.

Harry picked up the other present, which by the shape of it appeared to be a more normal sized book, and passed it to Hermione.

“It’s really for all of you,” said Harry, glancing at Hermione’s parents again while she was daintily unwrapping it. 

“Oh!” Hermione gasped when she saw the book. “I’d forgotten... Professor Slughorn mentioned... but I never really...”

Harry couldn’t help laughing. It was so unusual for Hermione to speak in less than full sentences. And once again, the looks on the faces of Hermione’s parents were priceless as they peered at the second book that Harry had given their daughter.

“My word!” said Mr Granger, looking a bit awed. “ _Potioneer Extraordinaire: A Biography of Hector Dagworth-Granger_...” he murmured to himself. “I’ll have to do a bit of research into the family tree...”

Eventually all presents had been opened and the wrappings tidied up. After a very light breakfast, Mrs Granger accepted Harry’s offer to help with the cooking, and was surprised to find he was quite expert at it.

“...It’s one of the chores at the Dursleys I really don’t mind doing...” Harry offered as explanation when he was asked. Hermione frowned slightly at that, suspecting that Harry liked cooking for the Dursleys mostly because that was the only way he could be assured of getting enough to eat.

The sounds of Christmas Cheer filled the Granger home as the day wore on. When Dora arrived shortly after noon, she and Harry were both surprised when Hermione took to the grand piano in the living room and began playing Christmas Carols.

“Blimey! She’s really good! Did you know she could play?” asked Dora, who fancied herself a bit of a musician as well.

“No idea!” said Harry, shaking his head in amazement.

Finally, around teatime, Christmas Dinner was served, and the feast laid out looked magnificent enough to rival anything which had ever been served up by the Hogwarts House-Elves or Mrs Weasley...

**~o0o~**

Mrs Weasley hummed along to the warblings of Celestina Warbeck emanating from the wireless as she peeled carrots by the kitchen sink while her children squabbled behind her. She was trying and failing to ignore the French girl’s complaints about Warbeck’s “...‘orrible seenging.” Movement in the garden caught the corner of Mrs Weasley’s eye and she looked up to catch a glimpse of two figures shuffling through the snow towards the house.

“Arthur,” she shouted, stunned when she saw who was approaching. “Arthur... it’s Percy! But Scrimgeour’s with him. Why on earth would Scrimgeour be with him?” 

Mr Weasley’s eyes narrowed. He drained the rest of his brandy snifter and stood up to take a look for himself.

“Dumbledore... He warned me about this,” Mr Weasley muttered.

“What? He knew Percy was coming to visit? And what is going on between you and Percy anyway? There has to be more to it than his concern about your financial status... I mean, most of the kids are out of the house now, making their own way in the world, and we’re doing just fine! Can’t you two just patch things up?”

Mr Weasley hesitated, not sure if Molly would believe him, then decided he might as well tell her the truth.

“That boy’s got his head stuffed too full of nonsense about blood-purity ever since he joined the Ministry.” Mr Weasley scowled. “He thinks it’s my promotion of pro-muggleborn legislation, and pushing for more muggleborn representation on the Wizengamot which has been keeping me from ‘getting ahead’ at the Ministry. 

“It’s all part of his own bid to get ahead at the Ministry, distancing himself from us... from _**me.**_ You know Percy’s greatest ambition is to be Minister one day! How am I supposed patch _that_ up?” 

Molly looked shocked. 

“Well,” she said after a pause, “maybe if we show him that we still love him, he’ll listen to us and we can talk some sense into him. Just try and be civil this time... please!”

“I’ll try... No guarantees, though!” Arthur sighed. “Percy’s not here for his health... I don’t doubt Scrimgeour dragged him along to get a foot in our door...”

“Why would Scrimgeour...?” Molly never got a chance to finish her question as the knock on the back door indicated that the Minister and Percy had arrived.

Mr and Mrs Weasley opened the door, and there was a painful moment of silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, “Merry Christmas, mother,” as he and his father shared cold looks.

“Oh, Percy!” Mrs Weasley peered at her son sadly, then without warning threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. Percy’s features briefly flickered with emotion before hardening again when he spied Fred and George glowering at him.

Rufus Scrimgeour observed the familial interaction keenly for a moment before addressing Arthur Weasley.

“Merry Christmas, Arthur!”

“He’s not here!” said Mr Weasley frostily.

“What?” Scrimgeour looked slightly taken aback.

“Harry Potter,” snapped Mr Weasley. “If you’re looking for Harry Potter, then he’s not here. If you want to speak to Harry that badly, you’ll have to go through Dumbledore... 

“Arthur, please... We were friends once...”

“That was before you allowed Umbridge to stay on as Senior Undersecretary, Rufus, and started locking up people you know are innocent! Now, do something about that, and maybe... just maybe, Dumbledore might let you talk to Harry Potter, and we might be able to be friends again. Until then, forget it...”


	5. All the World's a Stage

The next few days of the Christmas holidays with Hermione and her parents continued to pass quite pleasantly for Harry - for the most part - and he was almost able to forget the turmoil in the wizard world. Mr and Mrs Granger had managed to book tickets for a West End showing of _Cats_ \- which had apparently been Hermione’s favourite musical when she was little - for the Saturday following Christmas. 

Harry - who had never seen a play or a musical before - was excited to experience one of the nicer bits of life as a muggle which had been unavailable to him while living with the Dursleys, and Hermione was thrilled to be able to share it with him.

Mad Eye Moody was a lot less sanguine about the whole thing. “Bollocks! This just makes our job that much more difficult,” he ranted when Tonks gave him the news. “Can’t you just tell Potter and Granger to take a pass and stay at home, where it’s easier t’keep ‘em outta trouble?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Hermione’s parents already booked the tickets - not much we can do about it now! We’ll manage, Mad Eye! You’ve got your invisibility cloak and I’ll be sittin’ right next to them...” 

Indeed, the moment he had found out about the booking on Boxing Day, Harry had offered to buy a ticket for Dora so that she could attend too. 

Dora had been round at the Grangers for a bit each day, and on Friday afternoon - the day after Boxing Day - she found herself sitting cross-legged on the rug in Hermione’s room with Hermione and Harry, playing Monopoly with them. 

“Blimey!” Harry snorted mirthfully as he forked over four hundred fake quid to Dora after landing on Mayfair, nearly wiping himself out. “Good thing I’m loaded in real life. I’d be rubbish as a businessman. I dunno how Fred and George manage it...”

“It’s because you don’t have a mercenary bone in your body, Harry!” Dora chortled as she added the faux money to her huge pile. “That’s not a bad thing though, mind you... Just goes t’show what a nice guy you are.”

“Dora’s right,” said Hermione kindly. “Most people with loads of money take it for granted, or think that they’re more deserving than those who have very little - especially people like Malfoy who lord their wealth over everyone. You’re always so sweet Harry - wanting to share what you have with those who have less...

“He always buys half the food trolley on the Hogwarts Express and gives most of it to Ron,” Hermione told Dora. 

Harry blushed, squirming with embarrassment under the adoring gaze of Hermione, and Dora’s look of endearment.

“Er... I think I need some tea...” he said, standing up quickly. “How about you two?”

“Yes please, Harry,” Hermione giggled, sensing his need to escape for a few minutes.

“Ta Harry! That’d be lovely,” said Dora, trying not to smirk.

Hermione bit her lip and let out a little sigh, blinking back a few tears as she watched Harry departing for the kitchen.

“You alright, Hermione?” asked Dora. 

Hermione nodded. “Yes! It’s just... I don’t know how I’d manage without Harry at the moment... or ever, really. He’s always so kind to me...”

Dora felt a lump in throat, hearing the hint of pain in Hermione’s voice. She felt a surge of anger towards McLaggen again, mingled with the bitterness still buried deep within herself, and for a brief moment Dora couldn’t help but see a bit of her first girlfriend’s pain mirrored in Hermione’s eyes.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Dora asked quietly.

Hermione hesitated, several emotions flickering across her face. She nodded again, and tried to think where to start. 

“Harry and I rode on a Hippogriff together once... at the end of third year,” Hermione found herself saying. “Even though I’m not _usually_ the sort to believe in fate and signs, I _**really**_ wanted that to mean something! Hippogriffs are a symbol of love, you know?”

“I didn’t know that,” said Dora, shaking her head.

“In muggle mythology, they’re supposedly the offspring of Griffins and Mares, a mating only made possible by love,” Hermione continued. “There were so many times I wanted to tell Harry how I felt, but I wasn’t brave enough... Sometimes I wonder if I really belong in Gryffindor. 

“Harry never seemed to notice me in that way - the way I wanted him to - and I didn’t want to spoil our friendship...

“And then there was always Ron, too. Even though Ron was always so rude to me, after second year I could tell that underneath he liked me a bit, even if he couldn’t tell himself at the time. Ron was the first of the two of them to express an interest in me, in fourth year... and I stupidly let him get under my skin, even though I had my doubts that it would ever work between us.

“I really should have taken Ron’s jealousy more as a warning sign though, than anything, especially after he ditched Harry when Harry was chosen as a Triwizard Champion. But Harry still seemed more attached to Ron than he was to me, despite Ron’s treatment of him.

“In retrospect, I think that Harry was just desperate to hold onto a normal friendship of the sort that he’d always wanted - and that was Ron for Harry - his first real friend his own age. ... Harry doesn’t like to talk about his life with his relatives much, but from the things that he’s let slip over the years, it’s obvious that they treated him very badly, and didn’t allow him to have any friends.

“Anyway, after the Second Task, it was all too apparent how much being Ron’s friend meant to Harry, and I really didn’t want to spoil things between them. I knew Ron would just fly off the handle and ditch Harry again if Harry and I got together. I couldn’t do that to Harry... be the one to initiate a relationship... it had to come from him first, but it never did.”

“But I still loved Harry anyway, and... and when he started noticing girls, first it was Cho Chang... and _then_... then it was Ginny...” Hermione couldn’t help herself, and let out a little sob. 

“...And it hurt! It hurt so much! ... And I felt stupid too! I was supposed to be an independent modern woman - I shouldn’t _**need**_ a guy to be happy - but I couldn’t... I _**can’t**_ help it. I just wanted to be loved... to be loved by Harry most of all!

“But I was willing to settle for Ron - and I know how awful that sounds - but I _**did**_ have feelings for Ron despite everything, and it was clear that Ron still really liked me. I loved Ron enough to at least see if it would work between us... try it out... give him a chance to really _**show**_ me how much he cared about me... and it was an utter disaster!

“I invited Ron to Slughorn’s party... and I _did_ say ‘just as friends’... but that’s what you’re _**supposed**_ to say when you’re just trying it on for size, isn’t it?” Hermione peered at Dora beseechingly.

“Well, yeah!” Dora agreed. “I usually say somethin’ like that for first dates too - ‘just as friends’ or ‘let’s just see how it goes’ - anything like that, just to let ‘em know not to necessarily expect anything on the first go-round, so they don’t get their hopes up _too_ much. Most people have to be _**real**_ idiots not to get that it’s still a first date!”

Feeling slightly vindicated on that score, Hermione continued. 

“Anyway, Ron _**accepted**_ my invitation, and I could tell he wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know it was really a first date - and so could Harry. But Ron _**ditched**_ me... the arsehole snogged Lavender instead... in front of EVERYONE, the entire Common Room! He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me he wasn’t interested in going to the party with me anymore before he hooked up with her... it was AWFUL! 

“I was so angry with Ron... so jealous... I felt absolutely _**horrible!**_ Especially because I knew Harry was interested in Ginny... I’d given up on Harry. I felt so alone... like I could never have either one of the boys I loved the most!” Hermione let out another huge sob. 

“That’s how I ended up at Slughorn’s party with McLaggen! I went with him to get back at Ron... because _**he**_ was the one who suggested I take McLaggen in the first place, when Ron first heard about the party and got in a snit about it! But I invited Ron anyway, and he stood me up... he _**stood me up**_ and snogged Lavender instead!”

Dora bit her lip, watching the hot tears stream down Hermione’s burning cheeks.

“I wanted my first time to be with someone I really loved,” Hermione sobbed, “and he took that away from me... McLaggen _**stole**_ that from me! And I’ll never get it back... I’ll never get it back!”

Dora opened her arms and wrapped them tightly around Hermione as the younger girl wept.

“I hate McLaggen so much... I _**hate**_ him! I _**hate**_ him!” Hermione wailed in the comfort of Dora’s embrace. “B...but, it’s all so confusing too! If... if none of this had happened... would Harry have ever figured out that he loved me? I just don’t know, Dora... I just don’t know!” 

“Does it really matter?” said Dora as she rubbed Hermione’s back consolingly. “Now that Harry _has_ worked it out I mean? He loves you, and as far as I can tell, he’s always loved you, even when he didn’t really know it!”

“You’re right, Dora!” Hermione sniffled. “I just have a tendency to over-think things. I know how much Harry loves me! And I know that as long as Harry’s with me, I’ll eventually get over what McLaggen did to me. 

“It gets a bit easier every day with Harry to cuddle me. If it weren’t for Harry, I’d be so much worse off... I just know it! I couldn’t bear to lose Harry! I love him so much! I know it sounds stupid - overly dramatic - but I feel like I’d die without Harry right now! 

“I don’t know _how_ I’ll manage to cope back at Hogwarts without Harry to cuddle at nights, and it frightens me!”

Dora frowned, a steely look entering her eyes. “I think me and Mad Eye oughta have a word with Dumbledore then...”

“Wh...what do you mean, Dora?”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up too much, Hermione. But if there’s a way to get you and Harry a bit of privacy at night, I’ll do whatever I have t’do to talk Dumbledore into it... and Mad Eye’ll help me if ‘e knows what’s good for him. He owes me - they both do!”

**~o0o~**

Harry stood near Hermione’s doorway - just out of sight - with a loaded tea-tray in his shaking hands, not sure what to do. He had arrived just in time to hear Hermione tell Dora that McLaggen had stolen her chance to share her first time with someone she truly loved, and how much she hated him for it.

Harry couldn’t stop his own silent tears from sliding down his cheeks when Hermione spoke of her confusion, and how she couldn’t bear to live without him.

Harry was so distraught, he wasn’t sure if he heard Dora right. Did she really just suggest to Hermione that she might be able to convince Dumbledore to make some sort of arrangement for Harry to keep Hermione company at night? Or was he just hearing things? 

Hearing only quiet murmurs from Hermione’s room now, Harry surmised it was safe to enter. Trying to pull himself together, Harry set the tea-tray down briefly to wipe his wet face with his t-shirt. He picked the tray back up again and forced his face into a grin, hoping it didn’t look too fake.

“Oi, I’m back you two,” he said as he stood squarely in the doorway. “Not mercenary enough, am I? Well get ready for the poorhouse, because I’m about to make Fred and George look like rummage peddlers...”

Hermione let out a nervous little giggle, her eyes still puffy and red. Dora raised her eyebrows at Harry.

“Nice try, Harry,” said Dora.

“How much did you hear?” asked Hermione. 

Harry groaned, his face burning like a furnace turned on full, knowing that nothing less than the truth would suffice...

**~o0o~**

As Harry wove through the crowd with Hermione, Dora, and Mr and Mrs Granger, he marveled at the grandiosity of the theatre. Tall marble columns stretched up along the walls to meet the high, vaulted ceiling which reminded him a bit of the ceiling of the Great Hall, minus the enchantment which allowed those inside to see the sky beyond, of course.

He glanced down the rows and aisles to see the enormous gold and burgundy curtains which hung across the stage, and the orchestra pit at its fore full of musicians tuning up their instruments.

Harry felt a slight sense of awe as ushers directed them to their seats. And when the lights finally began to dim, and the rumble of the audience began to quiet to coughs and whispers, the sound of tuning strings sent little shivers up his spine.

Hermione shot Harry a nervous grin, clearly hoping he’d enjoy the show as much she did, and clutched his hand tightly. Indeed, as Harry watched and listened, he was surprised at how moving the production was, and teared up more than once through both acts, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. 

By the time _Cats_ was finished, Harry was very pleased that he could honestly tell Hermione that he had enjoyed every minute of it. And Dora seemed to be just as thrilled by the musical.

Standing nearby, under his Invisibility Cloak, Mad Eye was just glad that the travesty was over, and that nothing untoward had happened on his watch. 

The rest of the Christmas holidays sped by far too quickly for Harry and Hermione’s liking, and late in the afternoon, a few days after New Year, they stood in front of the fireplace in the living room to return to Hogwarts with Dora. 

Apparently Dumbledore had made arrangements with the Ministry for a one-off Floo connection to return students safely to Hogwarts via the Floo-port in the Staff-room Fireplace. The departure and arrival times of the students were staggered over a several day period, and Harry and Hermione were among the first scheduled.

“Bye Mum,” Hermione sniffled as she squeezed her mother tightly after giving her father an equally rib-breaking hug. “I’ll miss you lots and lots!”

“I’ll miss you too, darling,” said Mrs Granger, giving Hermione several kisses on the cheek.

Harry shuffled a bit awkwardly when Mr Granger approached him to say good-bye. Harry reached out his hand politely, only to be surprised when Mr Granger ignored his hand, embracing him instead. 

“Thank you, Harry!” said Mr Granger, his voice sounding a bit creaky. “I’m really glad Hermione has someone like you looking out for her in your world. You’re welcome in our home anytime, and... and I’m sorry if I seemed a bit stand-offish at first...”

“Er... quite alright, Mr Granger!” Harry gasped, trying to get in a bit of air. Apparently - judging by the hug her mother had also just given Harry - Hermione’s hugs were a trait passed on by both of her parents. “I totally understand, sir! I’d probably feel the same way...” 

Mr Granger released Harry and peered at him with a slightly teary smile. “...I think you’ll make a good father one day, Harry! Be well at Hogwarts...”

Harry turned a bit pink at the idea of being a father. Hopefully not for a long, long time!

Dora watched as first Harry, and then Hermione entered the Floo, then she turned and waved goodbye to Mr and Mrs Granger before following them into the green flames. Dora stumbled out of the fireplace in the staff-room at Hogwarts, and nearly sprawled on the floor. Thankfully, Harry had already recovered somewhat from his trip through the Floo and was able to catch Dora in time. Hermione was still doubled over coughing, and dusting soot off her clothes.

“I bloody hate Floo travel!” Dora moaned after nearly hacking up a lung herself. “Gimme a broom any day o’ the week!”

“Me too!” Harry agreed, grinning. He caught the eye of Professor McGonagall who was monitoring the arrival of the students, and thought she looked a bit torn between relief and impatience. 

“Good to see everyone arriving all in one piece!” said McGonagall after the three young wizards had recovered from the Floo trip. “Anyway, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you two in his office, Tonks will be along shortly.

“...Oh, and the new password for the headmaster’s office is _chocolate frogs,”_ McGonagall added with a hint of disdain.

Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione found themselves in a pair of well-cushioned chintz armchairs in Dumbledore’s office, wondering what the headmaster with merrily twinkling eyes had in store for them...

**~o0o~**

“I still can’t believe it,” said Harry, looking stunned as Dora led Harry and Hermione to their new digs through the stone corridors of the castle. “I can’t bloody believe it! Dumbledore’s actually letting us stay together in private quarters.”

“I can’t believe it either, Harry!” Hermione squeaked, looking very mixed up. Though still very red-faced with embarrassment after the conversation with Dumbledore, Hermione was almost beside herself with happiness.

“I honestly didn’t think he’d let us,” Hermione continued. “It’s normally a _**complete**_ violation of school policy for boys and girls to cohabitate. But I suppose it only makes sense that the headmaster would have the right to grant special waivers for students’ health and safety!” 

“Yeah!” Dora chortled. “Me and Mad Eye can be really persuasive together when we’re both on the same page. Dumbledore didn’t stand a chance against us! Course, he couldn’t really disagree with the logic... Anyway, those private chambers over there are going to be yours.” Dora pointed at a sturdy oak door at the end of a short corridor. 

“And that one’s going to be mine,” she added, pointing at another door on the right side of the stone passage. “If you need me anytime, night or day, I’ll be there, whenever I’m not shadowing you two during the school-day. ... Right then, now let’s go up to Gryffindor Tower and get your trunks and get you two moved in good and proper...” 

As he lay awake that night in bed cuddling Hermione in perfect privacy, Harry grinned at Crookshanks who was purring and curled up on the wardrobe next to Hedwig, both of them looking rather pleased with themselves as they eyed their humans.

Harry’s thoughts turned to what the next day would bring. On the one hand, things might be really awkward with Ron, but on the other hand, Harry couldn’t wait to see the look on Malfoy’s face. Harry finally felt like he could really trust Dumbledore again, having been given permission to be the one to give Malfoy the heads up...

**~o0o~**

“Oi, Malfoy...”

Draco whirled around, reaching into his robes for his wand, his eyes narrowing in hate when he spied his enemy near the stairs. His gaze lingered on his enemy’s pet, and his scowl turned into a malevolent leer. 

“Careful with your pet Mudblood, Potter! You might want to keep it on a leash,” he sneered. “It could wander off again and get found by another good Samaritan. And its new owner might not treat it as nicely as McLaggen did.”

Draco smirked with satisfaction when the bushy haired Mudblood bristled angrily, her fingers twitching towards her wand, but he was bewildered to see a slight smile creep to Harry Potter’s lips. 

“Speaking of pets, Malfoy,” Potter retorted coolly, “seems like one of Voldemort’s is going to be needing a new obedience school very soon.” 

“What are you on about, Potter?” Draco felt a familiar pricking behind his eyeballs as he faced off with his nemesis, and was even more puzzled. Since when did Potter know how to perform Legilimency? It wasn’t much of a probe, to be sure, but Potter had clearly been practicing a bit.

“Dumbledore wants to speak to you in his office,” Potter replied, looking a bit smug. “He told me to let you know. I don’t think you want to keep him waiting - the password is chocolate frogs.”

Draco felt a lurching sensation in the pit of his stomach and wondered what the hell was going on; he scowled bitterly at Potter and gave Granger one final nasty leer before turning on his heel and stalking away. By the time he reached for the brass knocker on the heavy oak door of Dumbledore’s office, Draco’s hand was slightly shaking.

“You may enter,” Dumbledore called out from within.

“Professor Dumbledore, you wanted to see me?”

“Please sit, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore said grimly.

“Er... So what’s this all about then? ...Sir?”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“I am very disappointed, Mr Malfoy!” he began. “I would say that I am very disappointed in you, but given your record here at Hogwarts, it would be more appropriate to express disappointment with _myself_ for allowing things to have gone on as long as they have... Things should have never got this far, and you would be better off for it...”

“Sir?” Draco’s trepidation leapt a few more levels, having a horrible feeling that everything was about to take a turn for the worse.

“It was a terrible mistake for me to allow Professor Snape to make you a prefect,” Dumbledore continued. “You have neither the correct demeanor, nor the strength of character to be given a job which requires a sense of fairness and justice, and the ability to behave in a responsible manner.”

Draco flushed, his face starting to burn. There was no question where this was leading. The knot of fear and anger in his stomach tightened.

“I know what you have done, Mr Malfoy. I know that you are the reason that Katie Bell remains comatose in St Mungo’s, currently hovering between life and death. Should she eventually succumb and die, that will make you a murderer - regardless of the fact that she wasn’t your intended target...”

The heat drained from Draco’s face, and he turned white - pastier even than his usual colouration as fear temporarily overwhelmed his anger. Draco had at first denied his hand in Bell’s mishap to Snape, though he and Snape had both known the truth, and Snape had offered to help him. 

But how could Dumbledore know that? How could Dumbledore possibly know with such surety? Potter! It had to be!

Potter was spreading filthy lies that Potter couldn’t possibly know had more than a grain of truth to them. And Dumbledore believed Potter because Potter had always been Dumbledore’s favourite. That was the only plausible explanation.

But Draco said none of that. Flushing angrily again, he glowered at Dumbledore.

“You can’t prove any of it!” he spat. “It’s all rubbish! How could you even know?”

“Draco...” Dumbledore’s voice took on a cold, steely tone. “Do not bother trying to lie to me. Did you not think that the portraits and ghosts would report to me when they overheard you and Professor Snape plotting someone’s demise? ...”

Draco’s grey eyes widened in shock. Had there been a portrait in the empty classroom in which he and Snape had argued? Draco couldn’t remember with certainty, but he didn’t think so. Maybe one of the ghosts then?

“...and it took little guesswork on my part to surmise that your intended target is someone vastly more important to Voldemort than Katie Bell,” Dumbledore went on. “Someone who is a threat to the successful completion of Voldemort’s goals...

“The intended target could only be Harry Potter or Myself! And it took me very little digging to discover that you had been the purchaser of the necklace from Borgin and Burkes. ... You and Severus must think me a fool if either of you truly expected me to allow this little charade to continue any longer once I caught wind of it...”

“You are a fool, old man!” Draco hissed through grinding teeth, shaking with fury and terror. “Snape’s been against you from the very beginning...”

“Perhaps so, Mr Malfoy! Perhaps so...” Dumbledore agreed politely. “However, I am not so foolish as to be blind to your fear. With your father incarcerated, and given his failure at the Ministry, your family’s standing in Voldemort’s organisation must be greatly diminished. 

“No doubt you have stepped up to fill your father’s shoes as Death Eater, but clearly not in the much favoured position as one of Voldemort’s top lieutenants as you had surely expected to be when you finally took your place at your Master’s side. 

“I harbour no illusions that you wouldn’t be eagerly attempting to murder myself or Mr Potter, with gleeful pride to be tasked by Voldemort, were you and your family better positioned. But as things currently stand, I suspect that your life is in danger should you fail to complete your mission - and the lives of your family as well. 

“I am willing to offer you this one chance Mr Malfoy - a chance to end this now, and do the right thing. I promise I will do my utmost to protect you, and your family, should you put aside this nonsense, and allow me to take you into custody.”

Draco wavered for a moment, shocked that Dumbledore was still willing to give him a chance. But how? How could Dumbledore protect him from Voldemort? And why? ... Why would he?

Dumbledore could see Draco faltering. The headmaster’s features softened, his voice taking on a pleading, sympathetic tone as he pressed on.

“Draco... I know that you have long harboured murderous intent in your heart towards those whom you believe - in your arrogance and your ignorance - to be lesser than yourself. But while Katie Bell still lives, you are not yet a killer. Do not become one.

“Put aside your pride, your fear, and your hate... before it is too late for you. Allow me to take you into custody, and willingly reveal the rest of your scheme to me.

“I will do my utmost to see that you and your family are protected from Voldemort, and to ensure that you and your family receive a fair hearing at the Ministry, though I cannot promise that you and your father won’t eventually have to face some measure of justice for your crimes... Please Draco, allow me to help you do the right thing.”

At Dumbledore’s words, Draco hardened. 

Justice? What Justice? Where was the justice in allowing the Mudbloods to pollute the Noble Bloodlines - spitting on the Natural Order of Things? 

And who did Dumbledore think he was kidding? If Draco turned himself in, the Dark Lord would know that Draco had betrayed him. There was no surviving that!

No! Draco’s only chance to live would be to throw himself at the Dark Lord’s Mercy. At least there was a slight chance that the Dark Lord would give him another opportunity to prove his loyalty and worth. But Open Betrayal was a sure promise of Death!

“Forget it, old man!” Draco finally spat. “You must think I’m a real idiot if you think I’d ever betray the Dark Lord. He’ll kill you and every single one of your precious little pets eventually.... So go ahead - turn me in to the DMLE - the Dark Lord is just going to break us out of Azkaban anyway.”

Dumbledore sighed sadly, looking very much as if he had expected such an answer, as he retrieved his wand from his robes.

“Is that your last word, Draco? Please think very carefully about the decision you are making today. There will be no coming back from it - no reprieve. You will have to live or die with it, and it is my preference that you live, with some small measure of sanctity for your soul.”

“Right! Like you give a damn about my soul!” Draco sneered. “My soul doesn’t need your saving anyway! I’m a Pureblood - a Noble - what are you? Just a washed up old wizard - probably a halfblood - whose glory days are long over! Who the hell do you think you are? ... Merlin? He was a Slytherin by the way... 

“Don’t waste my time anymore, old man. Just do whatever you think you have to do!”

“Then I am very sorry that it has come to this, Draco. If you will not willingly reveal the rest of your plans to me, then I have no option but to look into your mind for myself.”

“You won’t find anything,” Draco snarled. “My aunt has been teaching me Occlumency.”

“Did she not also teach you that your Occlumency is only strong enough to block casual observation of your thoughts? It will not withstand Legilimency performed with a wand. I am truly sorry Draco, more sorry than you will ever know...”

Draco knew he didn’t have a chance to reach for his own wand. Draco could do nothing as Dumbledore pointed his wand at him and murmured, “Legilimens.”

Draco’s eyes went wide and he stiffened. His walls collapsed under the headmaster’s forceful invasion. His mind lay bare for Dumbledore to see all that was within. Finally it was over, and Draco gasped, slumping in his seat.

“So - the broken Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement - your goal was to repair it!” Dumbledore stated matter-of-factly. “Voldemort was planning some sort of incursion to assume control of the school - no doubt to be assured of my demise, and possibly to secure it as a base from which to eventually launch a full-scale attack on the Ministry.

“Very well. Now begone... return to your Master!”

“Wh...what?” Draco gasped, utterly perplexed. “You’re letting me go? Why?”

“It serves me little purpose to hold you in Azkaban as you yourself rightly pointed out,” Dumbledore replied coldly. “And you will find that punishment for your failure at Voldemort’s hands will be far worse than any justice the DMLE would mete out. You will leave this school immediately. Take your belongings and go. And do not think to veer off your path of departure - you will be watched every step of the way!

“All I ask is that you pass along a message to your Master. He has failed - he will never take Hogwarts. And tell him that I already have Severus Snape in my personal custody. Severus will never be turned over to the DMLE, because I know he is far too valuable to Voldemort, should Voldemort take Azkaban again.

“So begone Mr Malfoy, and never darken these Halls again!”

Draco hesitated for a moment, then with one final scowl he stood up and scurried from Dumbledore’s office as fast as his feet could carry him.

Moments later, a mahogany bookshelf in Dumbledore’s office slid aside, revealing a hidden chamber. Snape stepped out from the secret room, a troubled expression masking his features. Dumbledore and Snape shared a brief look as Fawkes eyed them both.

“Go Severus,” said Dumbledore gently. “Meet Draco when he reaches the gates of Hogwarts. Tell him that you have escaped. Fulfill your Vow to Narcissa Malfoy and protect Draco to the best of your ability. And remember that your promise to me is also part of your promise to her. If you and I should meet on the field of battle, you know what you must do to fulfill both vows. It is my preference that you survive, even at the expense of what little there is left of my life. 

“I know that you wish it were not so, but I will reveal the truth of your bravery and your loyalties - and the reasons for them - to Harry. He of all people deserves to know, and should he defeat Voldemort and survive the war - as is my greatest hope - he will be best placed to see your honour and reputation restored...”


	6. Goody Two Shoes

Draco looked back and scowled at the Aurors watching him as he stalked through powdery drifts of snow which had blown across the path leading from the castle down to the gates of Hogwarts. It was obvious that Dumbledore hadn’t told them why Draco was leaving, or he’d be in their custody by now. 

Draco had packed up his trunk and left it with McGonagall to be shipped back to his parents’ estate in Wiltshire. The cold look in her eyes had strongly suggested that she was in the know, but keeping it to herself. 

In a brief moment of panic, Draco had almost considered begging her to let him go back to Dumbledore’s office, to tell the headmaster that he’d changed his mind. But then Draco remembered that no matter what he did, the Dark Lord would find him one way or another. No! It was better to return home to his mother, and admit that he’d been found out.

There was still a possibility that Draco could restore the Dark Lord’s faith in the Malfoy family if he was given another chance. War was coming, and sooner or later, Potter and Dumbledore would have to leave the castle. Draco knew that there was no way he could take on Dumbledore in an open duel, but he could easily picture himself presenting up Potter’s severed head to the Dark Lord. 

Surely that would be enough to restore the family honour. Draco imagined himself being showered with rewards, and having Granger in chains, naked and groveling at his feet, begging for a chance to satisfy his needs. 

As the wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts swung closed behind Draco with a heavy clang, a bitter wind howled, clumps of snow falling from the swaying limbs of the trees on either side of the lane leading to Hogsmeade. Draco was startled out of his comforting reverie by a lanky figure lurching towards him, calling his name as he emerged from the shadows of the woods.

“Draco...” muttered the shivering former Potions professor. “I knew if I waited long enough...”

“Sir,” Draco gasped in shock. “What?... How? Dumbledore told me he’d captured you!”

“That senile old fool!” sneered Severus Snape. “He thinks far too much of himself. He forgets that he is not the only wizard with prodigious abilities. Feigning hunger as I languished briefly in a warded cell in the dungeons, I called for a House Elf. ... I was able to overcome the House Elf’s feeble mental defences with Legilimency and Imperius it, ordering it to apparate me beyond the wards guarding the grounds of Hogwarts, and to retrieve my wand from Dumbledore’s safe...”

“But how?” Draco’s brows furrowed in perplex. “The anti-apparition charms...”

“Are only keyed to a wizard’s magic,” Snape interjected. “The magic of House Elves are not blocked by the school’s wards.”

“Oh, er... of course,” Draco nodded, recalling what little he knew about the magic of House Elves. Snape glanced around, his glittering dark eyes taking in the surroundings, making sure that they were well and truly alone.

“We must make haste, Draco, before we are discovered. I presume the headmaster took your wand?”

“Actually, no!” Draco glowered again, shaking his head. “The idiot didn’t seem to care. He just told me to get out and give the Dark Lord a message...”

“Dumbledore’s arrogance will be his undoing.” Snape took note of the flicker of worry in Draco’s eyes when he mentioned the Dark Lord. “Fear not, Draco. I will take full responsibility for the failure of this mission. And I have information that the Dark Lord will find most useful, which will put us both back on a path to regaining his favour. 

“Now come, Draco. Take my arm, so that I may apparate us both to your father’s estate....” 

Snape took one last wistful look at Hogwarts, burying the truth of his loyalties deeply, in a crevice of his mind where the Dark Lord would never find it. Then without another word, Snape twisted into nothingness, vanishing with Draco, and the woods beyond the gates of Hogwarts were silent once more, save for the keening cry of rushing wind.

**~o0o~**

The new day - the day following the unofficial expulsion of Draco Malfoy - brought with it the arrival of more students, emerging from the green flames in the staff-room fireplace.

Harry spent his time with Hermione studying in the common room as Gryffindors gradually trickled in. There were few though, and most were greeting friends in the Great Hall, leaving Harry and Hermione to themselves. 

Hermione was the first to spot them. Harry felt her stiffen slightly next to him, and looked up from the Third Year Ancient Runes textbook to see who she was looking at with such mixed emotions. He felt a slight tingle of trepidation, spying Ron and Ginny entering the Gryffindor Common Room.

Ginny grinned to see the pair of them sitting so closely together. 

“How was Christmas, Hermione?” she asked. “Are you feeling a bit better then?”

“Much better, thank you!” Hermione nodded, smiling warmly back at Ginny. “Christmas was very nice.” Then Hermione and Ron said “Hi,” to each other politely but coolly, both looking very uncomfortable.

“I just saw Luna,” said Ginny. “She was asking about you too, Hermione.”

Hermione bit her lip anxiously, glancing at Ron, then at Harry.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” said Harry, sounding much braver than he felt inside. “I’m fine. You should go hang out with Luna and Ginny a bit.”

“Don’t be a prat!” Ginny hissed under her breath at Ron as she and Hermione passed by him.

Ron just nodded and shuffled his feet, peering awkwardly at Harry.

“Er... thanks for the muggle comics, Harry,” he muttered. “They were pretty cool. I’m not so sure about the Spiderman bloke though - bit too... _spidery_...” Ron added with a snort of nervous laughter.

“Oh, er... yeah!” Harry grinned. “Sorry! I didn’t think of that.”

“So, er... Was your Christmas okay? Hermione’s really alright then?” 

“More or less.” Harry nodded, pleased to see a bit of real concern for Hermione in Ron’s eyes. “Well... it’ll be a good while before she really gets over it, probably,” he added. “I dunno how long... but yeah, she’s doing okay. And Christmas was good. ... Hermione’s parents were really nice, for the most part. 

“It was a bit rough with her dad at first,” he added, half-smiling, “but he seems alright with me now.” 

“Yeah... I don’t think Hermione’s dad likes me very much.” Ron let out another rather stiff snort of mirth. “I suppose it’s not too surprising that he warmed up to _you_ though...” 

The hint of bitterness in Ron’s tone was so mild at that last part, that Harry might not have paid it much attention in the past. But it was followed by another moment of awkward silence, and a flicker of something in Ron’s eye which made Harry’s middle squirm with discomfort. Harry really couldn’t think of an adequate response.

“So,” Ron went on, finally breaking the silence, and with an air of false nonchalance which ended on a slightly wounded sounding note, “what’s up with you and Hermione, anyway? Are you two an item now, or is that just my imagination?”

Harry grit his teeth, the squirming in his middle halted by a forming knot of tension. When Harry said nothing, still trying to work out a way to word things in a manner which wouldn’t escalate things, Ron continued.

“I mean, I suppose it’s perfectly normal for you to want to keep Hermione company, as a friend, after what happened to her,” he said, his tone now one of skepticism. “But you two looked awfully cozy together when we all left, and even chummier just now when we got back, so I was just wondering...”

“Really, Ron?” Harry suddenly blurted out, unable to contain himself. “You were _‘just wondering’...?_ Really? You sound more like you’ve got it all worked out already, to me...”

“Yeah... Maybe I do!” Ron snapped, his ears turning red. “Moody was at the Burrow late last night - I overheard him talking to Mum and Dad when they thought no-one was listening. ... So when were you going to tell me, Harry? ... I can’t imagine you and Hermione would be sharing private quarters unless you’d been together for a while...”

“I can’t imagine that you heard the whole story then,” Harry retorted bitingly. “Maybe you should’ve cleaned out your ears and listened a bit more carefully...”

“When did it happen, anyway?” Ron continued, as if he hadn’t heard a word that Harry had just said. “After Hermione set those bloody birds loose on me? Bet you two had a real good laugh about that one, didn’t you?”

“Bloody Hell Ron!” Harry shouted, having had enough. “How thick can you get? Hermione was crying all over me after you blew her off and snogged Lavender! ... Do you even know how bloody stupid you sound right now? Why the hell would she go to the party with McLaggen then, if she was supposedly with me? ...”

“How should I know why? Maybe you gave her the cold shoulder one day and she took him to get back at _**you!”**_ Ron yelled. “All I know is that girls do weird things when they get jealous!”

Harry was absolutely floored. 

“You’re joking right? _**Girls**_ do weird things when they get jealous? Well what about _**you**_ then? What the fuck do you think you’re doing right now, Ron? YOU’RE the one who’s crazy jealous! You sound bloody mental - like a paranoid lunatic - Just like when you thought I deliberately entered the Triwiz...”

“Oh, right! Throw that in my face again! Thanks Harry!” 

_“What?_ When did I ever throw that in your face? ...” 

Harry was nearly beside himself now, his anger warring with his desire to make Ron see reason. But how on earth was he supposed to get through to his best friend when Ron was so caught up in some bizarre delusion? In frustration, Harry sharply raised his hand to rub at his scar, which had been burning intensely since yesterday. 

Ron flinched, suddenly looking scared. “Don’t... _I’m sorry!_ I’m sorry! I dunno what I’m saying!” 

Harry dropped his hand quickly.

“Ron you don’t seriously believe I’d ever hit you, do you?” Harry peered at Ron, half-sympathetically, half-incredulously. “Mind you, after the way _you_ hit _me_ \- while I was barely even awake - I do sort of owe you one,” he added pointedly. 

Remembering the sharp blow to his head which Ron had given him when he had found Harry asleep in Fred and George’s bedroom during the summer, Harry now wondered if Ron had simply been jealous to find him in his house, as both Hermione and Fleur had been visiting too at the time, all under the same roof together.

Ron hung his head, looking extremely ashamed of himself, though there was still a strong hint of bitterness in his features. 

“I’m sorry!” Ron muttered. “You’re right... I’m being really stupid! I dunno what comes over sometimes...”

“Jealousy, maybe?” Harry sighed, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head.

“Look...” said Ron, catching Harry’s tone, “I’m _**sorry**_ I get so bloody jealous, alright? I just can’t help it sometimes, Harry! Why can’t you understand? Anyone’d be jealous of you! You always seem to get everything - glory, gold, all the girls always seem to want you... ”

“Lavender is snogging _**you,**_ Ron, not me,” Harry retorted, shaking his head again in amazement. “She’s your girlfriend! Did you forget about her already?”

Ron swallowed, looking confused and sulky. Deep inside, Ron knew he was very lucky that one of the prettiest girls in school liked him enough to snog him, especially after all the cracks he had made about wanting to see ‘Uranus’ whenever Lavender’s unaspected planet had come up during Trewlany’s Astrology lessons. 

But Lavender wasn’t Hermione. And for some reason that Ron couldn’t even fathom, the idea of Hermione being with anyone other than himself always made him jealous.

“No I didn’t forget about her,” Ron said finally. “Lavender’s great - perfect! The best looking girl in school,” he added, sounding slightly boastful, “except maybe for Greengrass, but she’s a Slytherin. But that’s not the bloody point, Harry. I’m sick of you always being so judgmental, like you’re better than me...”

“Judgmental? Me?” Harry wondered if Ron had finally cracked altogether, the strain of his last jealous outburst damaging a few brain cells. “Are you joking? Who took you back after you ditched me during the Triwiz? ... Me! I did! I didn’t even make you apologise... but I can see what a mistake that was now. 

“Maybe if I’d given _you_ the cold shoulder for a month or two instead of just forgiving you the moment you gave me puppy eyes after I defeated the Dragon, you’d’ve actually learned how it feels to be ditched by someone you trusted to always be there for you.

“And did I ever really give you a hard time whenever you were deliberately antagonising Hermione? Or going off on a jealous snit on her? Not nearly as much as I should have, obviously, and I regret it every single day now. ... You really need to sort yourself out and grow up, Ron!”

“There it is right there!” Ron shot back. “Telling me to grow up! ... _**Judgmental!**_ As if you’re so grown up yourself! What a bloody joke! You’re no better than me - certainly not smarter. You’re just as rubbish as I am in Potions. It’s only because of the Prince’s book that you’re doing alright now... That book could’ve been mine just as easily, and _**I**_ could be the one that Sluggy thinks is a genius.”

Harry tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, and failed miserably.

“Thought so!” Ron snorted, “You _do_ think you’re better than me. You’re so high and mighty sometimes, Harry! ... Don’t _you_ ever get jealous? I suppose not! What would the guy who has everything ever need to be jealous of?”

Harry swallowed uncomfortably, suddenly feeling a tinge of guilt. He pushed back at it, unwilling to let himself be turned into the villain of the piece; Harry wasn’t the one going around flying into jealous fits of rage all the time. But Harry couldn’t help feeling guilty, and thought that maybe Ron would be able to deal with things a bit better if he told Ron the truth.

“Yeah... actually I do get jealous, Ron. I just try not to be a git about it,” he said quietly. “I’m jealous of _**you!**_

“I was jealous of you when you got made Prefect - for starters. And sure, maybe I did feel like I’d done more to deserve being Prefect than you... but I knew it was just my jealousy talking. And I never once took it out on you!

“And... and more importantly, I’ve always been jealous that you have parents that are alive, and brothers, and a sister - a whole family who loves you! I know you’re always squabbling and giving each other a hard time... but it’s obvious that you all love each other. 

“Yeah... even Fred and George love you. They’re just not very good at showing it... probably because they’re guys! Anyway, _**that’s**_ what makes _me_ jealous, Ron!” 

Ron stared at Harry in shock, his mouth gaping wide. That was the last thing he had expected Harry to say, and he had no idea how to respond.

“Oh!” he said, deflating slightly, looking even more confused. “Well... er... Sorry! Er...” Ron shut his mouth, his ears turning red again.

“I dunno what to say, Harry,” he finally said after a few moments had passed. “I don’t know how to be _not_ jealous. I don’t know how you manage not to show it when you feel jealous. ... But that really doesn’t change things. Just because it’s easy for you to be a goody-two-shoes, doesn’t mean it is for me.”

Harry groaned and threw up his hands in exasperation. “You really think I’m a ‘goody-two-shoes’ after all the trouble I’ve caused, and all the stupid things I’ve done?”

“Yeah, Harry! I _**do!”**_ said Ron seriously. “It’s not like you ever set out to cause trouble on purpose. All you ever do is stick up for people who need someone to stick up for them, and try to save them, and stand up against arseholes like Malfoy and You-Know-Who. You always try t’do the right thing, even if you do break a few rules in the process.

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, mind you. It’s just... you can’t understand what it’s like not to be you... not to be as good a person as you! I dunno Harry, you’re my best mate, but sometimes, I still don’t get you... Bloody Hell! I don’t even get me!

“I dunno if I can do this right now.” Ron shook his head. “You and me - You’re a great guy Harry, but... I dunno! Just... just give me a bit of time to sort it all out - alright, Harry? I’m sorry for being such a bloody git! I really am! But I just need some time.”

Harry sighed, still not convinced that he was a “goody-two-shoes,” and gave Ron a sad little half-smile. 

“Yeah... I know, Ron! It’s not like this is the first time. You always sort through it and come around eventually. And... and I’ll always be around for whenever you finally do get over it! ... But just keep in mind, Hermione is my girlfriend _**now,**_ even though she wasn’t before we left for the Christmas holidays. 

“So try to be a bit nicer to Hermione... okay! Or we might be having words again!”

“Yeah... I’ll try harder! I promise, Harry!” Ron swallowed, nodding.

**~o0o~**

Anxious about the reaction of other Gryffindors to the news that they were no longer residing in Gryffindor Tower in separate dorms, but together in Private Quarters, after Harry told Hermione about the row with Ron, Harry and Hermione avoided the Gryffindor common room altogether the rest of the day and the following morning. So they were the only ones who weren’t yet aware that Apparition Lessons were being scheduled until they arrived at breakfast the first day of term.

Ron was seated next to Lavender, looking a bit grumpy; and Lavender, who was chatting enthusiastically with Parvati about something, nudged Parvati when she spotted Harry and Hermione. Lavender and Parvati both giggled and waved. Ron looked even sulkier when Lavender leapt up from her seat and gave Hermione a big hug.

“I’m so happy for you, Hermione!” Lavender beamed, shooting Harry a vivacious smile as well. “Parvati and I were just agreeing about how much we always knew that you two would eventually end up together.”

Ron couldn’t help letting out a little snort; Harry tried to ignore him, catching the eye of Neville instead, who turned a bit pink. 

“Of course, we didn’t expect you two to be shacking up together quite so soon,” said Parvati, grinning. “But I suppose it only makes sense that Dumbledore would want to put you both together somewhere a bit safer and more private than Gryffindor Tower,” she added perceptively.

Dora, who was standing nearby keeping an eye on things, overheard and raised her eyebrows, thinking that Parvati might have the makings of an Auror.

Surprisingly, other than a few sniggers and whispers, nobody seemed to be making too much of a fuss about the fact that Harry and Hermione were “shacking up.” Dora smirked a bit, as most of the comments that her sharp ears caught were more along the lines of “lucky bastards,” than anything particularly rude. 

But for the most part, the topics of most importance on the tips of everyone’s tongue were the upcoming Apparition Lessons, and re-appointment of Professor Moody.

Harry’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when Dean pointed out Professor Moody up at the staff-table to Seamus.

“Blimey! I thought there was a jinx on the DADA post,” Harry murmured to Hermione. She looked pensive as she took a sip of tea.

“Well,” Hermione said after a moment of thought, “I suppose as he’s the real Moody, he never actually got a chance to be professor last time. So if the jinx is real, it won’t have applied to him yet.”

“Oh! Of course!” said Harry. “That makes perfect sense.”

Soon breakfast was finished. Harry and Hermione made to join the throng of students exiting the Great Hall, but they were briefly held back by Dora.

“Oi, Harry, Dumbledore wanted me to tell you that there’s another lesson tonight at eight pm in his office. I’m not sure what ‘e’s on about though.”

“Er... Thanks Dora!” Harry felt a bit perplexed. Since he and Hermione had grown closer to Dora over the Christmas holidays, he wasn’t very keen about keeping secrets from her. “Well, now’s really not a good time obviously - but maybe when I get back from the lesson tonight, you could hang out with me and Hermione in our quarters, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

“Righto! Sounds good Harry,” said Dora, grinning. “Now, don’t mind me the rest of the day. I’ll be lurking nearby you both, but I’ll try t’stay outta your hair.”

“Don’t be silly, Dora,” said Hermione earnestly. “You’re our friend.”

“But still officially an Auror,” Dora pointed out. “I gotta at least pretend to be a professional while I’m on the job,” she added with a wink. “Now go on, off to class - I’ll be right behind you.”

Harry felt more than a bit nervous as he followed Hermione to their first class, as his schedule had been rearranged slightly by McGonagall after a powwow with Dumbledore apparently. He and Hermione were now sharing all of their classes together, which meant no more Divination thankfully, but now he was stuck in two classes in which he was three and a half years behind the material. 

“Professor Vector is really strict, Harry, but don’t worry,” said Hermione, as they made their way to Arithmancy. “I’m sure Professor McGonagall has explained the situation a bit to her.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it myself,” Harry sighed. “It didn’t really occur to me that Dumbledore would make our safety such a top priority that he’d actually have us put in all the same classes together.”

“It only makes sense, really, as we’re _both_ more or less top targets, now that we’re a couple,” said Hermione sympathetically. “It’s easier to keep a protection detail on us if we’re together most of the time.”

“Yeah, I know! I’m just glad it’s Dora,” said Harry. “I think I’d go bloody mad if we had some random Order member or Auror on our tail...”

Arithmancy turned out to not be _quite_ as horrible as Harry thought it would be, but he still felt pretty pathetic. Professor Vector had simply given Harry a spare Third Year textbook, and set him to reading it for the first lesson, and she and Hermione had both promised Harry as much tutoring as they had time for.

Harry began to feel a bit better about himself in Charms, when he realised that he had already learned the Aguamenti Charm in fourth year to face the Dragon. 

“See Harry, I told you that you were brilliant at Charms,” Hermione whispered after Harry blurted out, “Hey, I know this one.” 

Flitwick sang Harry’s praises and had him perform a demonstration for the class when he saw Harry cast the spell perfectly on the first try, the water flowing in a smooth continuous motion like a fountain.

Ron and Seamus were so busy chatting about Apparition, that Seamus’s charm explosively shot from his wand like a water-cannon, bounced off the ceiling, and flattened Professor Flitwick. 

Apparently Ron had been telling Seamus that Harry had already traveled by Side-Along-Apparition, and by the end of classes, most Gryffindors knew, and were clamouring Harry for the details of what it felt like. 

“...like being sucked through a straw,” Harry kept repeating wearily until he and Hermione finally managed to escape the Gryffindor common room around ten to eight, just in time to hurry up to Dumbledore’s office.

“Ah, yes, I thought I might be seeing Miss Granger with you,” said Dumbledore when Harry entered his office with Hermione in tow.

“Er, it’s alright, isn’t it?” asked Harry, preparing himself mentally to put his foot down if Dumbledore said no. Though if the twinkles in the headmaster’s eyes were any indication, Harry was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have to.

“Quite alright,” Dumbledore replied. “I presume that you have already brought Miss Granger up to speed on our previous excursions into Memory, Harry.”

“Er... Yeah! And...” Harry swallowed nervously, “and I was thinking about telling Dora - Tonks I mean - as well.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, stroking his long silvery beard. Harry fidgeted slightly as he stood next to Hermione, who was eagerly eyeing the Pensieve sitting on Dumbledore’s desk. Finally Dumbledore nodded.

“Yes, Harry, I do believe that to be for the best. Tonks has demonstrated that she is as loyal a friend as any you could possibly hope to have. However, the need for secrecy regarding what we learn on these journeys into Memory is paramount. If there are any in your life about whom you harbour doubts, I would strongly suggest that you be very careful about what you reveal to them henceforth.”

Harry’s stomach lurched slightly, wondering if somehow Dumbledore meant Ron. Despite everything that had happened between them - or maybe because of everything - Harry felt extremely uncomfortable about keeping secrets from Ron. But if he were to be honest with himself, Harry couldn’t help feeling that Dumbledore might be right. 

Besides, Ron had made it extremely clear that they were going their separate ways until he managed to get over the worst of his feelings about Harry and Hermione being together. Harry glanced at Hermione, who seemed to have picked up on Dumbledore’s meaning as well. The look in her eye settled Harry.

“I understand sir,” he told Dumbledore. “From now on, it’ll just be me, Hermione, and D... Tonks.”

“Very good. Thank you Harry! Now, if there are no further questions, perhaps we should begin. Miss Granger, I take it you are familiar with the operation of Pensieves, and what to expect?”

“Only from what Harry has told me, and from books,” said Hermione, tingling with excitement and anticipation.

“That should be quite enough to be getting on with then,” said Dumbledore, smiling warmly at Hermione’s eagerness. 

“This memory...” Dumbledore held out a crystal vial containing the swirling pearly misty-liquid-like substance for Hermione to see, before unstoppering it and tipping it into the Pensieve. “...I was most fortunate to acquire before Morfin Gaunt - Tom Riddle Junior’s uncle - expired recently. Do you recall what Harry has told you thus far about Tom Riddle’s life?”

“Yes Professor,” Hermione replied quickly, trying very hard not to sound impatient. “Tom Riddle’s mother was cruelly treated by her father and brother, and she... she probably gave Tom Riddle’s father a love potion...” 

Hermione heaved a deep breath, feeling very conflicted about Merope Gaunt, who was clearly a victim of horrible circumstances who had just wanted someone to love her. But there was no question in Hermione’s mind that what Merope had done to Tom Riddle Sr was as much rape, as what McLaggen had done to herself.

“Then... then when she became pregnant,” Hermione went on. “Eventually she stopped giving Tom Riddle Sr the love potion, hoping that he would still love her. But he left her, and she ended up dying of a broken-heart shortly after giving birth to Tom Riddle Jr in a muggle orphanage. 

“Tom grew up in the orphanage, and he treated the other orphans horribly - stealing their things and bullying them - even murdering their pets. But when he came to Hogwarts he was on his best behaviour... Though, Harry says you still didn’t really trust Tom, even though you gave him a chance to prove himself. Harry said that Voldemort told him that you didn’t seem to like him as much as the other teachers did.”

“Excellent Miss Granger! Quite succinct!” said Dumbledore, looking very impressed. “And Harry - most perceptive of you, I must say. Indeed, I was not convinced that Tom Riddle was worthy of such trust.

“To continue then, as Riddle progressed at Hogwarts, he drew to himself a circle of so-called ‘friends’- I say so-called, because it is highly doubtful that Riddle had the capacity to feel any sense of solidarity or affection for them, though no doubt many did so for him. Many were drawn in by his dark charisma, some by his prodigious skills, some by his well-hidden to the teachers cruel streak, and some by his obvious power... 

“Indeed, of this group of motley individuals, many would go on to become the first Death Eaters under his command upon their graduation. Though they were never caught, there is no question in my mind that during their seven years at Hogwarts they were responsible for a number of nasty incidents, one of which was of course the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

“There were also a number of occasions upon his departure from Hogwarts that caused me enough concern to begin an investigation into Riddle’s history, though most were too frightened to speak with me. And what I learned was that Riddle himself was obsessed with uncovering the truth of his parentage.

“It was only recently, that I myself discovered Riddle’s connection to the Gaunts - upon Voldemort’s resurrection at Riddle Manor. One of those I tracked down following Harry’s horrific experience was the Auror Bob Ogden as he lay on his death-bed - whose memory Harry has already witnessed. 

“And that led me eventually to Morfin Gaunt, who was also fading from this mortal existence, dying after decades spent in Azkaban for a crime which he apparently did not commit. This then, is Morfin Gaunt’s recollection, Miss Granger, and if you are ready would you please follow after Harry, who shall be taking the lead...” 

Dumbledore gestured towards the shallow stone basin in which the silvery substance - neither gas nor liquid, but somehow both - continued to swirl. 

Hermione watched nervously as Harry placed his face into undulating mist, and appeared to be sucked into the basin. Tentatively, Hermione’s nose drew closer to the mist and her tawny coils of hair spilled over her shoulders, framing her face. She let out a little shriek as she tumbled through bright billowing clouds of fog, eventually landing on her feet beside Harry.

Hermione gasped, her skin crawling at the sight of the interior of a decrepit hovel dimly lit by a flickering candle, the dust of eons thickly layering the cracked and broken wooden surfaces amidst curtains of cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. And huddled in an armchair, surrounded by the debris of chipped and broken pottery caked with moulding food, was a filthy looking man whose face was hidden under a tangle of dirty matted hair and an overgrown beard.

She gave a start of fright when Dumbledore suddenly appeared beside her and Harry.

“That poor wretch of a man you see before you, Harry, Miss Granger, is Morfin Gaunt,” said the headmaster quietly.

“I... I almost didn’t recognise him,” Harry muttered. 

A loud knock on the rickety door of the hovel caught Harry’s attention and made Hermione jump again. Harry drew a sharp intake of breath as the door swung open, its rusty hinges squealing. He knew that face all too well...

**~o0o~**

Upon their return from Morfin Gaunt’s memory with Dumbledore, Harry instinctively wrapped an arm around Hermione, who was trembling slightly.

“S...so that was him then, young Voldemort...” said Hermione. 

“Indeed!” Dumbledore nodded. “And thanks to Harry’s translation of the Parseltongue spoken, you are now as informed as Harry. I know a bit more, having uncovered the particulars of three murders in a nearby manor house... the murders of Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father...

“Apparently, following the incident you just witnessed, young Tom Riddle Junior - at sixteen years of age - was already well on his way to becoming a serial mass murderer. I do not have absolute proof, but the evidence strongly suggests that young Tom Riddle stole his uncle’s wand, murdered the Riddle family, and then altered his uncle’s memory - which I was only able to recover through a judicious application of Legilimency...”

“Is that why it went dark at the end then?” asked Harry, “Because Riddle messed with Morfin’s memories?”

“Quite so, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “Morfin awoke the next morning, and Marvolo’s ring was gone, with Morfin none the wiser as to how it had happened. In any case, subsequently, having been alerted to the murders by the Trace, Aurors eventually arrived. And finding no others at the scene, they arrested Morfin for the murders to which he freely confessed, having been compelled to do so by a bit more memory manipulation...”

“Of course!” Harry interjected with a groan, thinking of how he’d been blamed for Dobby’s Hover Charm. “Because the Trace can’t actually pinpoint who cast the spell. It’s only a sort of proximity alert to magic being performed in the vicinity of a minor, isn’t it?”

“Indeed Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I knew you would understand...”

“Wait! _**I**_ don’t understand,” said Hermione, frowning as if her lack of comprehension was painful to her, “If the Trace is placed on specific individuals - as we know it is - then even if the Aurors had decided that it was Morfin who committed the murders, the Trace would have still placed Tom Junior at the scene. 

“But from everything you’ve just told us, there is no indication that anyone knew Tom Riddle Junior was connected to the Gaunts, or even the Riddle family in Little Hangleton - and no indication that the Aurors knew Tom had been at the scene of the crime, for that matter. It doesn’t make any sense... How could Riddle’s Trace be triggered, without giving a clue as to his identity, or presence at the scene?”

“That is indeed a mystery, Miss Granger!” Dumbledore sighed. “I can only conclude that young Tom Riddle was skilled enough to tamper with his own Trace. Demonstrating how formidable his magical knowledge and skills were, even at that age.”

Harry swallowed uncomfortably and reddened, once again reminded of what he was up against, and how ill-prepared he felt to face it. Hermione glanced at him sorrowfully, seeing the self-doubt in his eyes once again. Apparently Dumbledore noticed as well, as he was moved to speak.

“Please do not doubt yourself, Harry! Yes, Tom has a vast wealth of knowledge, and much power, but you have abilities and powers which he will never be able to fathom. Voldemort is limited by his inability to grasp the _**true**_ complexities of Magic. 

“He sees only Power, not understanding that the Quality of the Emotional Content which fuels the magic, and the Quality of the Intent with which the magic is wielded, are just as important, if not more-so, than the Quantity. He is drawn to Magic which feeds on the Darkest of Emotions - on Hate, Fear, and Despair - much like Dementors are.

“Voldemort cannot produce a Patronus - no Dark wizards can - their Souls are too damaged by their focus on exploring the Darkest realms of the human experience in their selfish quest for Power for its own sake. Nor do they _need_ a Patronus to walk among Dementors without succumbing to their effects, as they are quite compatible with them.

“Yet _you,_ Harry - you were able to send over a hundred Dementors fleeing Hogwarts with a single Patronus. That is simply unheard of for any _adult_ wizard - most of whom are unable to produce more than a rudimentary Patronus Shield - _let alone_ a wizard only in his third year at Hogwarts. Those very few adults who can produce a Corporeal Patronus, can repel a dozen or a score of Dementors at best. 

“If that is not evidence that you have great power - and more importantly, great purity of spirit and of heart - and the potential to defeat Voldemort, then I do not know what is...”


	7. Magick Moste Evile

Harry glanced at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace, grateful for the warmth of the orange flames crackling in the hearth and the steaming mug of cocoa which Hermione had just passed him. It was getting on for ten thirty p.m., and he still felt very unsettled after viewing the second memory - Slughorn’s memory - with Hermione and Dumbledore. 

It wasn’t the memory itself which had been so unnerving, but the conversation which had followed. Finally, Harry knew the precise nature of the connection between himself and Voldemort, and in a sense, he felt that on some level he had always known - at least he had since the end of first year and pieced together for himself that he and Voldemort were connected in some way. 

Harry wished that Dumbledore had told him everything from the very beginning - instead of in bits and pieces. If he’d known about the Prophecy - and about what the connection had really meant - Sirius might still be alive. 

If only Dumbledore or Snape had told him _why_ he kept seeing the Department of Mysteries in his dreams, and why Voldemort kept feeding them to him, instead of simply telling him to shut up and do Occlumency. Harry would have been perfectly willing to try harder if he’d known that Voldemort was trying to steal the Prophecy - well, with someone other than Snape teaching him, anyway.

Harry couldn’t help feeling another surge of anger, and tried to suppress it; Dumbledore was doing his very best to make up for things now. The headmaster had even offered to begin proper training in Legilimency and Occlumency, pleased that Harry was finally prepared to give it his best effort, and that Hermione had given Harry the best book available to study. 

Harry took a sip of his cocoa and absentmindedly stroked Crookshanks, feeling somewhat comforted by the presence of the fat furry beast curled up purring on his lap. He glanced at Hermione and Dora, who were both sipping from their own mugs and watching him intently.

“So,” Dora began tentatively, when it appeared that Harry was ready to tell her a bit more, “Your scar then, does that really mean...?”

“...that I’m a horcrux too?” Harry finished for her. “Yeah... more or less. The scar’s really just a leftover from the Killing Curse when it rebounded from the Protection Charm created by my mum’s...” Harry swallowed, his eyes stinging. “...my mum’s sacrifice...”

Harry fell silent again and Hermione bit her lip, tearing up again as she watched the emotions which Harry was trying to contain flicker across his features. 

Hermione had already unleashed her tears in Dumbledore’s office when that bit had come up. She had known a bit about the circumstances of course, but Harry had never really talked about what he could remember of that night before. Hermione placed her hand on the back of Harry’s, the one which was resting on Crookshanks. 

Harry gave Hermione a little smile and took a deep breath.

“Anyway,” said Harry, when he felt ready to resume again, “according to Dumbledore, I’m not really a _completed_ horcrux. Voldemort never intended to make me one - it was just a piece of his soul which attached itself to mine when he... when he sort of exploded I guess. 

“Dumbledore’s still not really quite sure why that happened. I mean... even a rebounding Killing Curse wouldn’t have caused an explosion like that. So I suppose the scar really is sort of where Voldy’s bit of soul entered my body when he tried to kill me - or where the curse bounced off my skull? I dunno... It’s all a bit confusing still really. 

“In any case, it seems that there were more horcruxes besides Voldemort’s diary. The ring - Marvolo Gaunt’s ring - it was a horcrux too. ... Anyway, that’s why Dumbledore needs me to get Professor Slughorn’s real memory, to find out exactly what he told Tom Riddle. We need to try and work out how many horcruxes Voldemort might have made, and what they might be...”

“...and where they might be,” Hermione added.

“Blimey!” Dora muttered, peering at Harry sympathetically. “That’s a real load for anyone to bear, Harry. If there’s anything I can do...”

“It’s got to be me,” Harry sighed. “I’m the only one who really has a chance to get through to Slughorn for some reason. At least Dumbledore seems to think so. I’m not really sure why...”

Except for a few crackles and pops in the fireplace, it was quiet again in the sitting room as Harry, Hermione, and Dora peered at each other in contemplation.

“Maybe... maybe just because Professor Slughorn’s so interested in you Harry,” Hermione proffered. “I remember you telling me that he liked ‘collecting’ important people...”

“Not just important people, apparently,” said Harry. “He really liked my mum too... said she was one of his all time favourite students. At first I thought he was just being prejudiced when he talked about her being a Muggleborn - but he said he didn’t really care about that. 

“He said he thought it was interesting that my mum was so spectacular at magic, considering she didn’t have any magical parents. That’s when I told him you were the best in our year, Hermione, and he got _**really**_ upset that I thought he was prejudiced - told me again how she was one of his all time favourites...”

Hermione’s eyes widened, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Harry... Do you think he might have been, er... a bit _fond_ of her - your mum?” 

“What?” Harry made a face, as if he might be sick, “You mean...?”

“No, no! Not like _that,_ Harry!” Hermione said quickly. “I mean just sort of a general affection for her, in a, er... grandfatherly sort of way.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyebrows popped up in surprise. “Er... dunno really. I suppose... maybe! He did sort of have that kind of look in his eyes when he talked about her, come to think of it. D’you think that might help me somehow?”

“I’m not sure really, Harry,” Hermione admitted ruefully. “But it’s something to keep in mind while we try to think of ways for you to convince Professor Slughorn to give you the real memory. What do you think, Dora?”

“Makes sense to me, Hermione.” Dora nodded, a little smile hovering at the corner of her lips, and a slightly wistful look in her eye. “Teachers aren’t really supposed to have favourites. But when they do - especially if there’s a bit of real affection there too - it always makes things a bit, er... easier to get what you want outta them.

“Blimey!” Dora chortled, shaking her head and turning a bit pink. “Listen to me... I must sound like a real Slytherin.”

“No more than Hermione in second year,” said Harry, grinning at Hermione pointedly.

“Oh, shut up!” Hermione retorted, turning pink and guiltily remembering how she had exploited Lockhart’s vaguely inappropriate eagerness to win the affections of second year girls in order to check out _Moste Potente Potions_ from the Restricted Section of the library. 

At the time, Hermione had been too young and inexperienced, and too caught up in her crush, to ponder Lockhart’s behaviours. But as she had grown older and contemplated the fact that Lockhart had engaged in what could only be considered criminal acts to gather the material for his books and attribute others’ deeds to himself, she had wondered just how far he had taken his talents for charming witches of all ages, and Obliviations. 

It had been a bit sad seeing him in St Mungo’s last year, but Hermione couldn’t help thinking that perhaps the witches of the world were a bit safer now. 

“Anyway, Harry, Dora’s right,” said Hermione. “Professor Slughorn seems to like you, and he must have really liked your mum. We’ll just have to try and think of a way for you to use that to your advantage.”

Dora nodded. “Yeah, we will! We’ll come up with something. ... And thanks for telling me everything Harry! I sure don’t envy you... It’s bad enough you bein’ _‘The Chosen One’_ with a bloody target painted on your back, but it must be _really_ ‘orrible knowing you’ve got a little piece of that bastard in you. We should probably call it a night though and sleep on it. ... Will you be alright? Or do you want me to get you a sleeping draught?”

“No, thanks Dora. I’ll be fine,” said Harry gratefully. “I’ve got Hermione,” he added with a meaningful look which made Hermione blush.

“That you do, Harry. Right then, g’night you two. See you in the morning,” said Dora, smiling and getting up to leave. 

But as Hermione changed into her nightie and cleaned her teeth following Dora’s departure, it was obvious to her that Harry was putting a brave face on things. She settled into bed with Harry, sadly noting the distant, brooding look in his eyes. She drew Harry’s attention, stroking his messy fringe with her fingers and planting a tender kiss on his lips, wishing she felt comfortable enough to go further and do something she was almost certain would take his mind off things.

Hermione was heartened to see Harry’s features brighten a bit and his eyes refocusing on her. But it was clear that he was still disturbed about something that he didn’t want to talk about. She had a feeling she knew what was bothering him. It was written all over his face - she’d seen that look before. 

“It’ll be alright Harry. You know that I don’t care about you having a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside you, don’t you? We’ll figure out a way to get rid of it eventually.”

Harry swallowed, not sure what to say. He felt torn now, knowing how deeply it would hurt Hermione to pull away, but wanting her to be safe, wanting her to live. He hadn’t quite considered what it meant for them to be boyfriend and girlfriend with Voldemort after him, but finding out that he was a horcrux of sorts had suddenly thrown everything into sharp relief for Harry. 

Hermione truly was in danger now - not from Malfoy, who was no longer a threat to her at Hogwarts, but from Voldemort himself. 

“Hermione...” he croaked finally.

 _ **“Don’t**_... Don’t push me away, Harry!” Hermione interjected forcefully, unwilling to let the thought she could see forming in his mind set and harden. “You can’t protect me by pushing me away! Even if I didn’t need you as badly as I need you right now, I would never let you face him alone. _**Never!**_ Do you understand me! 

“I love you, and I’m not letting him come between us! I _refuse!_ We’re going to fight him _together_... You, me, Dumbledore and Dora! ...and the rest of our friends too!

“We’re going to find out if Voldemort made any more bloody horcruxes and... and one day we’re going to end him! Promise me you’ll forget about whatever you’re thinking, right now! ... _**Promise**_ me, Harry!”

Harry swallowed again, catching the blazing fire and the steely flash of determination in Hermione’s wetly glistening eyes. Her nostrils flared, her chest heaving rapidly with emotion. 

Harry’s insides curdled slightly, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop her when she had that look. And even worse, Harry wasn’t sure that he even wanted to stop her; deep inside, he knew that he needed Hermione as badly as she needed him. 

“Okay... I’m sorry I even thought about it,” Harry sighed, deflating, blinking his stinging eyes. “I promise, Hermione! I’ll never leave you! I _**promise!**_ We’re in this together, no matter what happens... I love you too!” 

Hermione’s features softened and she flung herself on Harry tearfully, wrapping both arms tightly around him, crushing his lips with her own. Harry curled one arm around Hermione’s waist, his other hand caught in her tangle of hair as he lost himself in her passion. 

When their lips damply separated, Hermione lay atop Harry, feeling much calmer while he continued gently stroking her hair.

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione said quietly, sensing Harry’s heart beating beneath her, feeling his warmth next to her own. “Thank you...”

**~o0o~**

The cold grey light of an early wintry dawn shone through the frosted over windows of one of the parlours in the manor of a Wiltshire estate. A man of pallid features with red eyes and slits for nostrils listened to another whose features were of barely more colour than his own. The red eyed man paid heed with more patience than had been readily available to him nearly forty eight hours prior.

Having raged for nearly two days, his fury had finally abated. He had wanted to torture the man before him and the boy both for their incompetence, but knowing that their future usefulness to him required their continued devotion had stayed his hand. The man with red eyes had unleashed his wrath on a family of muggles instead, leaving them broken in a pool of blood.

And in his hard won patience, the Dark Lord had to give the boy his due; faced with the offer presented by the Old Fool, the boy had stood fast, remaining true to his Master. And Severus had proved his worth yet again, cutting all ties with the Old Fool when the boy’s idiocy had exposed them both, and escaping the formidable Protection Charms which warded Hogwarts in a manner most surprising to the Dark Lord.

Feeling much calmer and more collected, the Dark Lord coldly eyed the ex-Potions professor seated before him, shrewdly contemplating the information which Snape had presented.

“You are certain of this, Severus?” queried the Dark Lord, his tone icy and brittle. “She is one of us then? ...A Dark Witch dedicated to Slytherin’s path?”

“Yes my Lord!” Snape answered confidently. “Dumbledore determined that she was the one who ordered the Dementors to the boy’s home, in an attempt to assassinate him before he could return to Hogwarts. And she also bore responsibility for calling for a full State Trial when the boy repelled them in the presence of muggles with his Patronus. And it has been rumoured that she subjected the boy to torture via bloodletting during her brief reign at Hogwarts.”

The Dark Lord’s red eyes narrowed with interest, his lips curling up slightly at the corners

“And yet she remains as Senior Undersecretary, despite being publicly proved incorrect regarding my return, and the partial exposure of her corruption!” the Dark Lord mused aloud, stroking his chin pensively. “Intriguing!”

“Indeed!” Snape returned coolly, raising his eyebrows. “Dumbledore believes that she may be highly placed in the Operations and Intelligence Division of the Unspeakable Office. That would explain her ability to resist the calls for her immediate dismissal. ... If she were to become an ally, she could prove most useful - far more useful than an operative within the Ministry weak-minded enough to fall to an Imperius Curse.”

“Yes... yes! Quite so Severus. I see your point. She would be well placed to advance our goals within the Ministry without having to risk my own exposure, or the exposure of my other operatives with Ministry ties. And you say that you have some rapport with this... this _Dolores Umbridge?”_

“I do!” said Snape. “There was some friction between us on her last day as headmistress, but only because she did not take well the fact that she had depleted my stores of Veritaserum. I am certain there was no lasting damage to our relationship.”

“Good... good!” the Dark Lord hissed, his scarlet eyes gleaming brightly. “Very well then, Severus. When the opportunity arises, make your approach. Invite the Dark Witch to join us - and be certain to make clear the benefits that such an alliance can bring her... and to also make clear the price of refusal.”

“My Lord, I shall do as you command,” Snape agreed.

“Very good Severus! Now, send in the boy. I would have words with him, and present him with another opportunity to prove his value to me.”

“Yes, my Lord!” Snape stood up and bowed slightly before stalking from the room.

Moments later a youth with pointy features and light blond hair entered the parlour, pasty-faced and shaking.

“M...Master? You wished to s...see me?” stammered Draco Malfoy.

“Be seated, Draco!” 

The Dark Lord gestured towards the opulent emerald sofa from which Snape had so recently departed. Puzzled by the Dark Lord’s attitude of benevolence, Draco nervously sat himself down and fidgeted.

“You have nothing to fear from me Draco... for now,” said the Dark Lord, his smile devoid of warmth as he regarded Draco cannily. “Severus has explained all. I do not hold you responsible for your failure. I had anticipated that you would be unlikely to succeed.”

“S...sir?” Draco was even more bewildered than ever.

“It was a test, Draco - a test of your willingness to go up against your better - a wizard of great power and experience - despite knowing the odds were stacked against you - in your service to me. It was a test of your courage and your loyalty - not your skill, which is as yet that only of the callow youth which you are. 

“And your loyalty pleases me, Draco. I do not doubt that one day you shall restore your family’s honour and redeem your father’s disgrace...”

A surge of relief rushed through Draco’s veins, and he sat up a bit straighter, his grey eyes widening.

“Severus tells me that you and Harry Potter are well acquainted with one another,” the Dark Lord continued, “that Potter is your arch-nemesis. Does Severus speak truly?”

“Y...yes sir. He does!” Draco felt a little shiver of eagerness, wondering if the daydream which had eased his departure from Hogwarts was about to be given a chance of coming to pass.

“Very good, Draco!” The Dark Lord chuckled, seeing the excitement in the boy’s eyes. “Very good! I take it you know much about Potter then... how to wound him - how to hurt him. Tell me what you know of him, Draco. Who are his friends? Now that his Godfather is dead, who will he miss the most?”

“Oh! That’s easy,” said Draco. “Weasley and Granger! He’d do anything for them...”

“Ah... yes! Ronald Weasley - the son of a blood-traitor...” The Dark Lord nodded. “He was among those at the Ministry, I believe I was told. And this Granger... also at the Ministry I believe?”

“A Mudblood,” Draco spat derisively. “She’s Potter’s pet Mudblood! ... Weasley’s always been interested in her - has a snit if anyone so much as looks at her - but everyone in school knows it’s going to be Potter and Granger eventually. They’re attached at the hip!” 

“So... like his blood-traitor father then, Harry Potter would choose to marry beneath his station?”

“That’s about the size of it! I’m not sure what Potter sees in her though,” Draco snorted, “Probably her brains. She’s pretty smart for a Mudblood I suppose. Potter wouldn’t last two seconds without her.”

“I see,” hissed the Dark Lord, his eyes piercing Draco’s. “You have done well to inform me, Draco. If you continue to please me, you may yet see your desires fulfilled, your enemies prostrate before you in chains...”

**~o0o~**

Harry woke feeling more at peace and more cheerful than he would have thought possible after the stunning revelations of the night before. His scar wasn’t even burning anymore - just a mild itch if anything.

Of course it was hard to feel miserable with Hermione still entwined around him. She hadn’t stirred once during the night, and Harry wondered if she’d had any more nightmares. He kissed her bushy head.

“Mmm... Morning Harry,” Hermione responded.

“Oh! You’re awake...”

“I woke a little while ago, but I didn’t want to wake you yet. It just felt nice to cuddle you...”

Harry couldn’t help grinning. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he felt it would be inconsiderate not to at least ask. 

“So, er... no nightmares last night then?” Harry peered at Hermione hopefully. “I mean - it was the first night you’ve slept all the way through since we left Hogwarts for Christmas.”

Hermione blushed and bit her lip, shyly fluttering her eyelashes, not sure she was ready to reveal the intimate details of her dreams to Harry just yet. It had been over two and a half weeks since that horrible night, and though she had been very hopeful, Hermione was nonetheless surprised at how quickly her “Cuddle-Harry” Therapy was working. 

“Well... they weren’t so bad, anyway,” she finally said. “Just fragmented bits and pieces now... and, er... more nice dreams too.”

“That’s great!” said Harry, looking relieved, then his eye caught the clock. “Blimey! It’s almost time for breakfast, Hermione...”

Still red-faced, Hermione let Harry up to make a brief lavatory stop, before they quickly took turns using the bathroom to shower and change. Dora was already outside their door, waiting with her eyebrows raised and a hint of a smirk on her face. 

Waving a forkful of fried egg around as he chatted animatedly to Neville, Ron looked up and grunted when Lavender and Parvati both giggled at the late arrival of Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall. 

Neville rolled his eyes at Ron. “Ron, can’t you just...”

“No!” Ron grumped, shoving the forkful of fried egg into his mouth and crossly attacking his bacon. Neville sighed and turned his own attention back to his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.

Potions lessons had been awkward enough during the last weeks leading up to Christmas. Harry wasn’t sure whether he felt more sad or more relieved when Ron picked up his cauldron and retreated to the other side of the table with Ernie MacMillan, as there were no other Gryffindors in the NEWT level Sixth Year Potions class for Ron to hang out with.

Ernie looked a bit surprised, but not at all unhappy. And thankfully for Ron - whose work had been suffering badly in most of his classes without Hermione to help him since the day he had first snogged Lavender - Ernie was extremely eager to share his abundant knowledge.

Slughorn called the class to order and everyone quieted. 

“Right then,” said Slughorn, “Golpalott’s Third Law... Now, who can tell me...?” Hermione’s hand shot up, and as everybody else looked slightly befuddled, Slughorn chuckled and gestured towards her, giving Harry a wink. “Mr Potter’s partner in crime, Miss Granger, of course...”

Harry quickly felt lost and began to panic when Hermione launched into a full-speed recitation of Golpalott’s Third Law and Slughorn followed her up with a lecture that appeared to have the rest of the class looking as glassy eyed as Harry. Ron was doodling in his copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ as he hadn’t the foggiest, and Ernie MacMillan was too busy struggling to comprehend Slughorn’s lecture himself.

Hermione nudged Harry out of his stupor when Slughorn finished his lecture.

“Come on Harry,” she said. “Grab a vial of poison. Don’t worry - I’ll help you get through this...”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he returned to the table with Hermione, both of them with vials of poison in their hands.

“Alright, Harry,” said Hermione, in her school-teacher tone of voice, “You may be brilliant at following instructions without someone harassing you, but you really haven’t had a proper opportunity to learn the theory with a decent instructor until now. So just follow my lead, and I’ll explain what we’re doing as we go...”

Harry paid attention to Hermione as best as he could, and was surprised to find how readily he understood as she carefully explained every step of the process. He glanced up from their potions at intervals to see how well everyone else was doing. 

Half of the class was gasping or coughing as eggy smelling fumes and smoke billowed out of cauldrons full of potions gone wrong. The rest were struggling, but at least managing to keep up appearances. Ron scowled, crinkling his nose at the ghastly odour coming from his cauldron, barely able to follow a word Ernie was saying, despite Ernie’s patient, but slightly pompous tutoring. 

“Don’t worry if you don’t get this one today, Ron,” Ernie said kindly, giving him a pat on the back. “Just stick with me from now on, and I’ll have you up to snuff in no time.”

Harry and Hermione were still stuffing their vials full of ingredients when Slughorn called out, “Time’s... UP!”

Apparently nobody had managed to complete their antidotes in time. Harry just hoped that he hadn’t slowed Hermione down too much as Slughorn drew nearer. Slughorn nodded semi-approvingly at Ernie’s potion, but he grimaced and had a coughing fit when he took a whiff of Ron’s.

Still wheezing, Slughorn finally reached Harry’s and Hermione’s potions. 

“Hmmm... Not bad! Not bad at all,” said Slughorn. “Not quite up to your usual speed, Harry, but I daresay that your and Miss Granger’s top-of-the-class reputations are both intact. Well done! Well done indeed!

“And I daresay you and Miss Granger could have both given your mother a run for her money - though I wouldn’t have put it past Lily to pull a bezoar from her pocket when she realised that she didn’t have time to complete the antidote - cheeky little monkey that she was.” 

Slughorn chortled at that last bit, a fond, wistful look in his eyes. Hermione beamed at Harry - who looked deeply relieved - and gave him a quick hug.

“Right then class, time to pack up!” Slughorn boomed jovially. “I’ll be wanting a foot of parchment on Golpalott’s Third Law by next lesson from the following students: Ronald Weasley...”

Harry didn’t listen to the names of the other students who were being assigned extra homework, turning to Hermione instead as they both packed up their materials and cleaned up their work-stations.

“Hermione, what d’you think? Slughorn seems pretty happy with us. Should I give it a go then when everyone else has cleared out?”

“Er... I’m not sure Harry,” said Hermione uncertainly. She bit her lip pensively, and Harry could see her gears spinning as she thought about it.

“I don’t really think just asking about horcruxes and Tom Riddle out of the blue will work,” she said after a moment. “Professor Slughorn’s likely to just panic if you do that. He’d probably get irritated and clam up, and you might even put him off you for a bit. And that’s the last thing you want to do.”

“Oh!” said Harry, deflating. “Yeah! I suppose you’re right. I’d probably panic too if someone came at me like that... I just thought - while he’s in a good mood.”

“It’s not a matter of catching him in a good mood,” Hermione continued, her expression still thoughtful. “I think it’ll probably have to be in a serious sort of situation - a proper sit down, and directly appealing to his better nature in some way - be up-front.”

“You mean I’ll more or less just have to tell him the truth - tell him everything? ...about really being the, er... ‘Chosen One?’” said Harry, looking very uncomfortable at the idea of playing on his current reputation in the Wizard World.

“I think so, Harry.” Hermione nodded. “And it looks like he really did seem to like your mother as much as you said he did. You might have to bring her up to remind him what’s at stake.”

“Wait! You mean...?” Harry gulped, looking slightly ill, feeling even worse about the idea of deliberately dredging up what must surely be a horrible memory for Slughorn.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “And it can’t be in a random moment. You’ll have to approach him when he’s feeling a bit vulnerable, I think. I’m really sorry Harry - I know how awful that sounds.”

Harry groaned. This was getting worse and worse. He tried putting it out of his head for the rest of the day, mentally preparing himself for his and Hermione’s first Legilimency and Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore that evening.

Hermione was also keen on finding out as much about horcruxes as possible, and out of sheer morbid curiosity, Harry followed her to the library after classes. As a Prefect, Hermione had an open pass to the Restricted Section, and she and Harry began rifling through the most likely books, looking for mentions of horcruxes. 

The pile of books on the table in the Restricted Section grew higher and higher as they both continued to search, growing more and more frustrated. Hermione came to a halt part-way through the book she was leafing through, _Potions for the Discriminating Necromancer_ ; she turned green, looking like she might be violently ill.

“Found something?” asked Harry, his eyebrows perking hopefully.

“No! Just something absolutely _**revolting!”**_ Hermione replied vehemently, passing him the book.

Harry took one look and clapped a hand to his mouth in shock, shutting the book quickly and setting it down on the table, using every ounce of his willpower not to throw up.

“Blimey!” Harry gasped when his stomach stopped gurgling. “No wonder Dark wizards get on so well with Dementors...”

Finally, after nearly two hours, as dinnertime drew nearer, Hermione found something, a single sentence in the foreword of a book called _Magick Moste Evile_. She huffed angrily and rolled her eyes, giving the book to Harry so he could see for himself.

“Well, that’s stupid,” Harry muttered, frowning. “I mean, why bloody mention horcruxes at all if you’re not even going to give a brief overview of how they’re done?”

 _“Exactly!”_ Hermione snapped, exasperated at wasting two hours on fruitless research...


	8. The Second Technique

As she and Harry took the winding staircase up to Dumbledore’s office, Hermione did her best to empty herself of her emotions in preparation for the Occlumency and Legilimency lesson, but her aggravation at having found no information on horcruxes was being uncooperative, clinging to her frontal lobes like a stubborn barnacle. 

Hermione hated not being able to find the information she needed to solve a puzzle - and she was desperate to help Harry find a way to remove the piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to his own which didn’t involve his death. She knew that Harry wasn’t a true horcrux - the magic necessary to make him one hadn’t been performed - but the principle was still the same, regardless. 

As long as the piece of Voldemort’s soul remained within him, Voldemort would be bound to the earth while Harry still lived. But there had to be a way to remove it without killing Harry - there just _**had**_ to be. The fact that Harry wasn’t a completed horcrux surely meant that there was some way of prying the bit of that monster out of him.

The sound of the brass knocker on the heavy oak door which guarded Dumbeldore’s office jarred Hermione out of her reverie, and she followed Harry in when Dumbledore beckoned. Hermione caught a glimpse of a small sepia photograph of a little fair haired girl adorning the headmaster’s desk. 

The wistful look in Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes was unsettling, making Hermione feel as if she and Harry were intruding on a private moment. Biting her lip, Hermione glanced at Harry; his own eyes were on the photograph too, and his slight frown told her that he was feeling much the same way.

“Come... Please, be seated.” Dumbledore smiled wanly and gestured at the two well-cushioned chintz armchairs when he saw the hesitancy of his two pupils. 

“My sister,” Dumbledore sighed as Hermione and Harry took their seats, all three with their eyes still glued to the photograph.

“Oh!” said Harry, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I... er... I didn’t know.” Harry turned pink, looking a bit embarrassed that he had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his family before.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore gently. “But that is not your fault, Harry. Sharing my own personal history is as foreign to me as it is to you. My past is more... complicated than you might imagine.”

“It’s alright sir,” said Harry, swallowing. “You don’t have to tell me...”

“Ah, perhaps not,” said Dumbledore. “It is quite unlikely that either you or Miss Granger would be able to penetrate my defences during this first lesson, but I feel it would be a bit presumptuous of me to assume that with utmost certainty.”

Hermione bit her lip again, her brows knitting thoughtfully. 

“Couldn’t you remove your memory temporarily and put it in a pensieve?” she asked. “Harry told me that was where he had seen Professor Snape’s memory about his, er... father and Professor Snape.” Hermione glanced at Harry apologetically, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I could do that,” Dumbledore agreed. “However, as painful as some of my memories are, I do not feel the need to do so. Professor Snape’s ignominious set of circumstances, and the antagonism he felt towards Harry, is what compelled him to borrow my pensieve - and it was very mistaken of me not to have taken that as a warning of Professor Snape’s eminent unsuitability to be Harry’s Occlumency teacher. ... In my case, it would simply be best to reveal the truth, shameful though it may be.”

“Er, is... is your sister still...?” Harry hesitated, not quite able to bring himself to voice the entire question.

“No!” Dumbledore shook his head, stroking his long silvery beard. “Ariana, she has long since passed beyond the veil, when she was still but a young girl - just two years shy of your own age, Harry, and... and I shall never know - unless I am brave enough to ask - if it was I who sent her there.

“I was so tempted to use it - to see her, to ask her... and that is how I ended up with this.” Dumbledore lifted his withered, blackened arm. “And now... now I will likely see her in any case, sooner than I had thought I would.”

“Sir?” Harry looked bewildered, not following at all. Hermione felt just as perplexed.

“Tom Riddle’s ring...” said Dumbledore, his voice small and creaky. “It houses an artifact - the gemstone - which can recall those who have passed on... not in full form, but in Spirit, and for a short while, they can remain among those who still walk the earth. But to keep them here in this world for any extended period of time would be cruel beyond measure.

“But I had to know...” A single tear rolled down one of Dumbledore’s cheeks. “I had to know if it was I who killed her... I had to tell her... how sorry I was...”

Unable to help herself, Hermione let out a little squeak of distress and grabbed Harry’s hand. Dumbledore took several deep breaths to compose himself before continuing

“How this all came to be - That is a tale I am not proud of. I allowed my pride, my selfishness, my ambition, and my pain, to get the best of me. It will no doubt surprise the both of you, but at one time, I was not so unlike young Tom Riddle in my views of non-magical persons. 

“My sister - at the tender of age of six - her magic had begun to show. Several muggle boys far older than her witnessed her performing magic. They tried to make her show them the trick, and when she couldn’t they set upon her violently. What they did to her... unspeakable...”

Dumbledore faltered momentarily, his eyes briefly catching Hermione’s. She trembled slightly, feeling a wrench at her heart, her grip on Harry’s hand tightening as she wondered at the horrifying implications of Dumbledore’s meaningful expression.

“Ariana, she was never the same after that,” Dumbledore said when he began again. “Her magic turned in on her, emerging only in dangerous outbursts of accidental magic when she became angry or upset. Upon my sister’s violent assault, my father sought out the boys and exacted his revenge, and was sent to Azkaban for doing so.

“Fearing that the Ministry would remove Ariana from our home, due to her unstable magic, following my father’s imprisonment my mother moved the rest of the family - my sister, my brother, and myself - to Godric’s Hollow...” 

Hermione gasped and looked at Harry.

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered towards Harry. “Yes Harry, we are neighbours, after a fashion...”

“Er... We are?” Harry turned pink, suddenly realising that he had never been told where his parents had lived, and that he had never thought to ask anyone. 

“Yes, Harry,” said Hermione quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s in all the history books, the ones I told you about when I first met you on the train. That’s where it happened... your parents...”

“Oh!” said Harry, feeling even worse as his face grew even hotter. “I... I guess I never really wanted to know. I’ve always... always hated the idea of being in history books - everyone knowing all about me.”

“I am sorry to shock you Harry. I thought you knew.” Dumbledore peered at him apologetically. 

“In any case,” said Dumbledore after a moment of awkward silence passed, “My mother told my brother and I to keep our sister’s condition a secret, and so we did. The years passed, and during my time at Hogwarts I was renowned for extraordinary intellect and skills. I was prideful - more-so than I am today,” he added with a wry, almost mirthless chuckle, “and exceedingly ambitious. It was a wonder that I was not sorted into Slytherin.

“I wanted glory, and escape - I did not want to be tied down to a house full of woe. But it was not meant to be. Shortly following my graduation from Hogwarts, as I prepared for a grand tour of the world with my then partner, Elphias Doge, I received word that my mother had been killed during one of my sister’s magical outbursts.

“I felt obligated - my brother was still attending Hogwarts, and I canceled my trip, insisting that my brother complete his education. But I also felt resentment, trapped, my life wasted, and it was into that toxic mix that Gellert entered my existence...”

Hermione let out another gasp. “You mean...?”

“Yes, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore nodded. “The summer following my mother’s death, I met a young Gellert Grindelwald. He was visiting his aunt, Bathilda Bagshot, at the time. I was enraptured, intoxicated by his presence - his mind as advanced as my own. And I was taken by his ideas - that wizards should rule over muggles, for the Greater Good. My views were coloured of course by what those boys had done to my sister. 

“But the affair was brief. I sensed that Gellert wanted more than I - that his plans were far more dangerous and cruel than the benign rule which I myself envisioned. But smitten as I was, I kept my misgivings to myself, until my brother Aberforth confronted us - accusing me of neglecting my sister for this interloper. 

“Heated words were exchanged. I do not recall who drew wands first... my brother or Gellert. But in that moment, the scales fell from my eyes, and I finally knew where my heart truly belonged. I knew I had been a fool, an arrogant, selfish fool. I stepped in to defend my brother, who was no slouch himself. Side by side we dueled Gellert and the battle was fierce, the spells growing more and more deadly. 

“My sister, Ariana...” Dumbledore’s voice broke, several tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. “Ariana - she heard the battle - she was upset - she wanted to help... One moment she was nowhere to be seen, in her room I had thought, and the next moment... the next, she lay on the floor - dead. And I have no idea... which one of us killed her. No idea...”

Hermione bit her trembling lip in an unsuccessful bid to prevent her own pooling eyes from leaking. Harry swallowed uncomfortably, looking pale and horrified. There was another short awkward silence in which only the ruffling of Fawkes’s feathers could be heard as the phoenix eyed its human sadly. 

Dumbledore dabbed at his cheeks with his paisley hanky, and offered his pupils a wan smile. 

“Well, this is all quite a bit maudlin,” he said ruefully, “considering that we’re supposed to be casting aside our emotions for the task at hand.” 

“How _are_ we supposed to do that anyway?” asked Harry, glad the moment had passed. “Snape... Professor Snape never really told me. I’ve been reading the book Hermione gave me, but I still don’t quite understand - I mean, how is it possible to simply stop feeling something?”

Hermione listened intently, thankful that Harry had asked.

“Ah, well that is the trick indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Technically speaking, one does not truly put aside their emotions - one either feels, or one does not. Different tactics work for different people. For some, actively partitioning their minds with mental walls and locking the emotions behind those walls is most effective - though this method can present its own set of problems for the practitioner, leaving oneself particularly vulnerable to self-deception and delusion. 

“For others, simply allowing the emotions to be, but ignoring them in favour of focusing one’s intent on the desired goal at hand is more appropriate. 

“And in some cases, the emotions themselves can be utilised to achieve one’s goals - particularly if the emotions are being directed at someone other than the attacker. For example, if you are having particularly strong feelings towards Miss Granger, that would present as a Natural Block should Voldemort try and enter your mind...”

Harry blushed furiously at Dumbledore’s words as Hermione gave his hand a squeeze and nervously giggled, her own cheeks turning pink.

“That is because your directed Intent - your focus - being so strongly on her, would allow you to detach from the connection between you and the attacker,” Dumbledore explained. “Without that connection, the attacker has no means of entry into your mind. 

“And this technique may be the most effective for you against Riddle, Harry, doubly so, because as we have discussed, Love is something which Voldemort cannot understand, or abide - In a sense, Love is destructive to him, as you discovered when he attempted to possess you at the Ministry. While you harbour Love in your heart, Voldemort cannot penetrate your defences. 

“The second technique I mentioned - allowing your emotions to simply be, but ignoring them - I believe that would also be quite effective for you, Harry, and perhaps a technique useful to ward off a casual or wand based legilimency attack by someone other than Voldemort. 

“I believe the second and third of these techniques would also be the most effective for you, Miss Granger, especially the second. Like Harry, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, but your mind is also highly disciplined, your ability to focus despite the stresses in your life is quite evident in the exceptional quality of your schoolwork...” 

Hermione’s already rosy cheeks turned several shades redder at the headmaster’s high praises. Harry shot her a quick grin.

Pleased to see that the mawkish moment had passed, and that his students understood, Dumbledore knew they were both ready to begin...

**~o0o~**

The Head of Operations and Intelligence - the ranking sub-department in the Department of Mysteries - examined her files, making certain that all her i’s and t’s were dotted and crossed before placing them in one of the steel filing cabinets in her office. Satisfied that she had completed her work for the day, she threw some sparkling powder into the fireplace and stepped into her private floo - the one leading directly to her other Ministry office.

Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge emerged from another fireplace into the office in which most other Ministry employees - including Minister Scrimgeour himself - usually expected to find her, unaware as they were that she was the highest ranking Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. 

Dolores took a moment to make sure that the simpering smile she wore in public was firmly in place, and smoothed out the wrinkles of her pink cardigan before opening the door and entering the outer office.

“Ah, Margaret, still here are you?” she asked her secretary sweetly. 

“Yes, Ma’am. Thought I’d stay late and just finish up a bit of filing before I head out for the day.”

“Very good. If you would be so kind, dear, I would be ever so grateful if you would water the ficus before you leave. It looks a bit wilty.”

“Of course Ma’am,” said Margaret.

After bidding her secretary a good night, Dolores made her way through labyrinthine corridors of the Ministry and up the elevator to the Atrium’s public floo-ports. She could have flooed directly home from her secret private floo system of course, but keeping up appearances was of primary importance at the moment.

Which meant that her next stop was her regularly scheduled visit to her favourite corner booth in the Leaky Cauldron for dinner. Dolores was just about to dig into her plateful of roast beef, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and peas, when a familiar lanky figure with greasy hair and a hooked nose took a seat on the other side of the table. She narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Severus, this _is_ a surprise,” said Dolores, recovering enough to maintain her girlish demeanor. “Shouldn’t you be at Hogwarts?”

“Indeed!” said Snape dryly, arching his eyebrows. “However, things are not as... _comfortable_ there with Dumbledore back in charge.”

“Yes. It is most unfortunate,” Dolores agreed. “It is quite a shame that the Educational Oversight Committee has rescinded the Ministry’s authority over Hogwarts at the request of the school’s board of governors. But that is politics for you.” 

“Quite so,” said Snape. “And it surely cannot help that the most prominent board member languishes in Azkaban...”

Dolores scowled. “What are you saying Severus? Lucius was caught dead to rights, in the heart of the Ministry.” 

“Do you truly believe he belongs in Azkaban?” Snape’s dark eyes glittered as cannily regarded the shrewd Ministry witch, noting her hesitation.

“What I believe is unimportant,” Dolores said finally, wondering where Snape was going with this, and more importantly, who had put him up to this. “Lucius made his bed when he broke into the Ministry on behalf of that... that _unruly narcissist_ , Voldemort...”

“How did he manage that by the way,” Snape asked nonchalantly, “getting through all of the Ministry’s security with such ease? Why, one might almost think that he had received _inside help_.” 

Dolores’s scowl deepened. It still infuriated her to no end that Voldemort’s people had broken into the Department of Mysteries while she herself was being manhandled by a horde of filthy half-breeds. Dolores mentally kicked herself for the umpteen-thousandth time for taking on the role of Inquisitor herself, instead of giving the job to Alecto Carrow. 

But Potter surviving the Dementors, and then winning over the Wizengamot had simply been too much bear. Dolores had been determined to personally see to Potter’s punishment, and to personally ensure Dumbledore’s eventual incarceration in Azkaban.

“I mean, it is true, the Dark Lord operates outside of the colour of law, but are his goals so different than our own?” Snape continued silkily. 

Dolores did some quick calculations in her head. It was highly unlikely that Scrimgeour had put Snape up to this to entrap her - the fool was too single-minded to see beyond his own nose. Other than being a bit more ruthless, and moderately more intelligent, he was little better than Fudge. 

Dolores was still furious with Lucius for not informing her of Voldemort’s return, and saving her the embarrassment and humiliation of supporting Fudge’s inanity, but she could hardly fault him for not wishing to incur Voldemort’s wrath. It would be shortsighted to allow her anger at Lucius to colour her assessment of Lucius’s opinions.

And Lucius had always spoken so highly of Snape, assuring Dolores that Snape had tricked Dumbledore after the end of the last war. It seemed even more unlikely that Dumbledore had set Snape the task of entrapping her. There was only one reason which made sense for Snape’s presence here tonight.

“No, they are not so different, after all,” Dolores quietly concurred. “So, what does he want, Severus, and what is he offering in return?”

**~o0o~**

The next week or two passed peaceably for Harry and Hermione, both buoyed by how well things were going with their Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Dumbledore. And as the second Saturday of February drew nearer, the excitement of the sixth years filled the castle, eagerly anticipating their first ever Apparition lesson.

Hermione was feeling better than ever, and had whispered conversations with Dora. Harry caught them both giggling, and when they both turned beet-red, he was sure it had something to do with him. The three of them were still tossing around ideas for how Harry ought to approach Slughorn, and digging into his history with what resources they had available.

Defence Against the Dark Arts had turned very interesting with the real Alastor Moody in charge of the classes. It was scary how well the imposter, Barty Crouch Jr, had impersonated Mad Eye, but if anything the real Moody was even more intimidating as a professor. Professor Moody seemed quite impressed at the skill level of those students who had been part of Dumbledore’s Army, and made Harry his unofficial Teacher’s Assistant, raising Harry’s spirits and easing some of his self-doubts about his abilities. 

Ron seemed to still be keeping his distance, hanging around mostly with Neville, and Seamus, and Dean, when he wasn’t snogging Lavender in as many public places as possible, but he wasn’t shooting so many dirty looks or grunting every time he saw Harry and Hermione together. Harry held out some hope that Ron might at least be open to hanging out a bit by the time his birthday rolled around in March. 

The second Saturday of February arrived with heavy rain, which was melting the snow around the castle, leaving slushy puddles and muddy lawns, and every student in sixth year was in the Great Hall, standing in rows, facing a hoop just under two metres in front of them as the Apparition teacher introduced himself. 

Harry felt very prepared, having studied a slender book about Apparition thoroughly with Hermione, reading it back to front half a dozen times in the last two weeks. 

The Occlumency and Legilimency lessons gave Harry even more confidence that this was something he could do. Harry had a much firmer grasp of what Wilkie Twycross the wispy looking Apparition Instructor meant by “Deliberation and Determination,” (and “Destination” went without saying) associating the terms with the same skills which made it so easy for Harry to shrug off the Imperius Curse. 

Of the two of them, Hermione was the most nervous about trying, once Wilkie had finished his lecture, having never had the experience of side-along Apparition as Harry had.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you got this on your first go, Harry,” said Hermione, sounding anxious and mildly envious. “I doubt you’ll need all twelve lessons. You understand the basic principles, _and_ you know how it’s supposed to feel when you get it right. _I’ll_ probably splinch myself,” she moaned.

“Don’t be silly!” said Harry, grinning. “You’re bloody brilliant! And _nobody_ is more determined than you, Hermione. Dumbledore said magic is all about Will and Intent, and you’ve got more of both than anyone else I know. If I can do this, then so can you.”

Hermione beamed at Harry, relaxing slightly. As she and Harry both took deep breaths to steel themselves for their first attempt, they overheard some the others around them dealing with their own fits of nerves.

“I’ll probably never get this,” Neville sighed. 

“Buck up, Nev!” said Ron encouragingly. “At least you won’t die. With my luck, I’ll probably explode!”

“More likely Seamus will,” Neville muttered.

“Yeah - You’ve got a point there,” Ron chortled.

Seeing everyone’s hesitancy, Wilkie Twycross clapped his hands. “Right then, you lot, everyone ready? ... On my command ... Turn on the spot, feel your way into nothingness, move with deliberation! ... One... Two... THREE!”

Ron spun around so vigorously that he went flying and crashed into Ernie MacMillan who was just spinning giddily until Ron knocked him off his feet. Neville sprawled flat on his face. Harry twirled around and nearly lost his balance. He managed to pull himself together fast enough to catch Hermione and prevent her from knocking her head on the marble floor as she dizzily fell off her feet.

Dean and Seamus hadn’t done any better than anyone else, but they were both laughing uproariously as Ron and Ernie clambered back up.

“Quite alright! Quite alright!” Ernie told Ron, dusting himself off as Ron apologised profusely.

Wilkie gathered everyone’s attention, peering at everyone with the barest hint of a smirk, as if he had expected nothing more, then had everyone give it another go. The second attempt was no better than the first, but this time Hermione managed to stay on her feet. 

The third was when something interesting finally happened. Harry took a deep breath and tried the second Occlumency technique, letting all the sounds and sensations swim around him, while ignoring everything but the hoop in front of him as he twisted into thin air.

Harry felt like his eardrums were going to burst and his stomach squirmed; the sensation he recalled from before of being sucked through a straw gripped him. There was a loud pop as Harry emerged from nothingness in the middle of his hoop, where he doubled over and promptly threw up on the floor.

Another loud cracking report issued beside Harry; he grinned as he wiped his chin, and vanished the pile of vomit with his wand, seeing Hermione in her hoop clutching her stomach and looking very green. 

“Oh, well done, well done!” boomed Wilkie, his voice sounding much too big for him, and looking very surprised. “That’s two of you! Alright let’s see who else can manage it. Again... One... Two... Three...”

Harry and Hermione both apparated perfectly again, and this time someone else _almost_ managed it. An ear-piercing scream caught everyone’s attention. Susan Bones teetered in her hoop on one leg, half of her other leg still standing five feet away from her. McGonagall and Flitwick were on her in an instant. The sound of a detonating grenade echoed in the Great Hall, and a billowing cloud of purple smoke filled engulfed Susan.

Madam Pomfrey took Susan - who was sobbing loudly - to the hospital wing once her leg had been reattached, leaving behind two puddles of blood which Flitwick and McGonagall hurriedly vanished.

Wilkie earnestly reminded everyone again of the importance of “the three D’s,” while they all waited for Madam Pomfrey to return. There was a lot less laughter, and a lot more focus from the sixth year students after seeing what had happened to Susan. 

An hour later, Harry and Hermione had managed to apparate another dozen times; Hermione had vomited on her second apparition, but by the time the hour was up, the pair of them were managing to apparate without feeling anything more than a very mild nausea. 

One Ravenclaw - Parvati’s sister Padma - also managed to apparate several times. After congratulating Harry and Hermione on their amazing success, Parvati and Lavender both hovered around Padma when the lesson was over, praising her as well. 

Ron looked a bit put out as he glanced at Harry and Hermione. 

“Of course,” he muttered. “Reckoned _you_ two would manage it.”

Neville rolled his eyes at Ron. 

“Sorry Harry!” Ron mumbled, looking a bit sheepish now.

Harry nodded his acceptance. “To be perfectly honest Ron, I much prefer brooms...” 

Harry trailed off when he felt someone tap his shoulder and turned to see Professor Slughorn - who had been monitoring the students along with McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout - looking thoroughly impressed.

“My word Harry m’boy, that was most outstanding, most outstanding indeed! You and Miss Granger both!” Slughorn’s walrus moustache twitched and his cheeks dimpled as he beamed at Harry and Hermione. “Many years, nobody at all gets it on the first go-round, but some years, there are one or two like yourselves. 

“If I recall correctly, your mother managed it a number of times her first lesson, Harry, and your father several times during his second. Please, join me for a spell. ... I would be delighted to help you celebrate this momentous occasion, most delighted!”

“Oh, er... Yeah! Alright,” said Harry, reassured by Hermione’s nervous nod of confirmation. He flushed slightly and tried not to look at Ron though, who was doing his utmost not to appear jealous.

Once inside Slughorn’s stuffy, hot office, Harry and Hermione plonked themselves into two well-stuffed armchairs and curiously peered around the cluttered room while the Potions professor - and recently reinstated Head of Slytherin - rifled through his belongings searching for libations. 

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione questioningly; she understood Harry immediately, and shrugged uncertainly.

“Let me see, what have we here? ...” Slughorn called out as he rooted through a pine cabinet, “Ogden’s Old... Hmm... Perhaps a wee bit too strong... Brandy - It’s Dragon Barrel, over two hundred years old this bottle is... Butterbeer, Elf-wine... Ah, what’s this? I’d forgotten all about this one - passed along to me as a Christmas present for Dumbledore. 

“Bit too late for that now. Yes, I think this will do the trick... a bottle of oak-matured mead, Rosmerta’s I believe.”

Slughorn blew a bit of dust from the bottle and popped the cork, pouring some of the dark honey coloured liquid into three enormous mugs before settling himself down into another armchair which creaked, sagging under his voluminous weight. Slughorn swigged a deep gulp from his own mug and nodded before passing Harry and Hermione the other two, leaving a thick coating of foam on his bushy whiskers.

“Well then, drink up, drink up!” said Slughorn. “It’s not often you come across a bottle of oak-matured mead as fine as this one... I can call for a house-elf to bring us some nibbles from the kitchen too...” 

Hermione lifted the mug to her lips, a mildly amused expression on her face. Frowning, Harry suddenly knocked the mug out of her hands; it shattered on the floor, mead flying everywhere.

 _“Harry! What on earth...?”_

“Slughorn!” Harry blurted out. “Something’s wrong!”

Hermione looked on in horror as Professor Slughorn began convulsing, the frothing around his lips clearly not from the mead; Slughorn’s mug tumbled from his grasp, smashing on the floor, the shards and liquid mingling with the debris from Hermione’s mug. 

“Bloody Hell! Hermione! What do I do?” shouted Harry, panicking. 

But Hermione seemed to be momentarily paralysed with shock. Harry peered around the study wildly, spotting Slughorn’s potion kit. He flew across the study, knocking over a stool and a coat-rack, and yanked open the kit. Harry pulled out and flung to the side numerous jars and pouches, not seeing what he was looking for.

Hermione snapped out of her momentary impairment, leaping from her seat and undoing Slughorn’s collar, looking inside his mouth to see if his air passage was blocked. 

“Harry!” she begged, tears streaking her cheeks. “He’s dying! There must be something in there - bring me the kit...”

“Found it!” Harry gasped, sprinting to Hermione’s side and nudging her out of the way. 

Hermione’s eyes widened as Harry opened Slughorn’s mouth and shoved a dessicated kidney-shaped stone into the Potion Professor’s throat. 

Harry’s heart felt like it would burst from his chest, it was pounding so hard. He hoped beyond all hope that whatever poison had been in the mead was one which would be countered by the bezoar. He and Hermione both heaved a deep sigh of relief when Slughorn let out a gasp and his convulsions stopped. The tension leaving his body, the professor flopped in his seat as if boneless, his breathing shallow. 

“Dobby!” Harry called out. 

Moments later there was a cracking sound and the house-elf appeared out of thin air.

“Harry Potter calls sir?” 

“Get Madam Pomfrey, quickly,” said Harry. “Professor Slughorn’s been poisoned.”

Dobby’s bulbous eyes grew even bigger and swiveled for a look at the Potions professor. “Dobby leaves at once, Harry Potter, sir.” 

Hermione turned her own worried brown eyes on Harry.

“How... How did you know, Harry?”

“Something Slughorn said. It took me a moment for it to sink in, but he mentioned it was supposed to be a present from someone else for Dumbledore - Rosmerta’s mead.”

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, remembering back to the conversation which Dumbledore called her and Harry up to his office for upon their return to Hogwarts following the Christmas holidays - the conversation in which he had revealed all...

“Malfoy!” she gasped.


	9. Fragmented Souls

Albus Dumbledore departed the hospital wing with Professor McGonagall as they both shared a look. Even though Minerva didn’t say, “I told you so,” her expression spoke volumes. Dumbledore sighed, mentally kicking himself once again for his ill-considered decisions. At least Harry’s quick thinking had saved Horace Slughorn’s life. 

Dumbledore hoped that his new course of action, made with the counsel of both Minerva and Severus, would yield more positive results in the long term. There was no question that Dumbledore felt much better about himself from a moral standpoint, but there was still the matter of devising a new means of ridding Harry of the piece of Voldemort which resided in him. 

The headmaster took stock of the fact that Harry appeared to be drawing ever closer to Hermione Granger, more than simply providing her comfort and solace in her time of great need, giving credence to Nymphadora Tonks’s claims. A positive expression of Love in Harry’s life - as opposed to the grief expressed at Sirius’s death - could prove to be a critical factor in eventually achieving this goal. 

It was entirely possible that Voldemort’s soul fragment - which hadn’t been strongly bound to Harry through the process required to make him an actual horcrux - would not be able to withstand a bombardment of overt intimacy and affection in conjunction with the right combination of spells...

**~o0o~**

“Harry m’boy, I can’t thank you enough,” Professor Slughorn said weakly from his hospital bed, still looking quite out of sorts despite Madam Pomfrey’s ministrations. “Truly, no words can express my utmost gratitude. True or not, you do your reputation as the Chosen One justice...”

“Really sir, it was nothing,” said Harry, flushing with embarrassment. “Anyone could’ve done the same. I was just lucky you had some bezoars in your kit. ”

Hermione frowned at Harry’s attempt to downplay his quick actions, still feeling thoroughly chagrined at having briefly frozen. And Slughorn was having none of it either.

“Nonsense Harry!” he admonished. “If not for you, I would surely be departed from this mortal plane. I have very little to offer in return for my life at the moment, but if there is anything I can do to repay you - anything at all - just name it and I will do my utmost to see that your desires are met.”

Harry swallowed nervously as his eyes widened, unable to help feeling slightly guilty for even considering taking advantage of this moment. He glanced at Hermione, who appeared to be torn herself. Biting her lip, she gave Harry an almost imperceptible nod. Harry gulped again and took a deep breath to steel himself, turning back to Slughorn.

“Er... There is actually something, sir. I... I was wondering...” Harry faltered, then took another deep breath before starting again. 

“I need to know - what can you tell me about horcruxes and Tom Riddle?” Harry asked quietly.

“Merlin’s beard!” Slughorn gasped. “He... he _told_ you? Dumbledore actually told you about the memory?”

“It’s important,” said Harry as conviction surged within. “Please Professor! I need to know. It’s true what they say - I _am_ the Chosen One, and I need to know what you told Riddle if I’m ever going to have a chance to defeat him - to put an end to him once and for all.”

A flicker of fear crossed Slughorn’s features, replaced by a look of shame. Harry pressed on relentlessly.

“My mother,” said Harry quietly but firmly, “Even if I wasn’t the Chosen One - he took her from me - I never got a chance to know her.”

A tear trickled down Slughorn’s cheek and slowly he nodded.

“Of course... of course, Harry! Vengeance is not always to be encouraged - but given the circumstances... it is your right; and there is no question that the world will be the better for ridding us of Tom Riddle’s cruelty. 

“But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me when you view the memory. It is a moment which shames me. I fear... I fear that I am responsible for the monster which Tom Riddle became. It is all my fault!” Slughorn’s voice cracked, and another tear rolled down his cheek. “It is my fault that Lily... that your mother... It is my fault she is dead.”

Harry felt his own eyes stinging and shook his head. “No... no it’s not your fault, sir - Riddle was already a monster! You didn’t make him that way. But I forgive you anyway...”

Slughorn peered into Harry’s green eyes - into her eyes - Lily’s eyes - their iridescence plainly visible even through Harry’s glasses. 

“Thank you! Thank you! You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear those words from... er... ” Slughorn hesitated, then reached for a wad of tissues on his bedside table; he dabbed his wet cheeks and blew his nose. “Thank you, _Harry!_ If... if you’ll have Poppy - Madam Pomfrey - if you’ll have her bring me a vial, I’ll give you the memory right now.”

“That was brilliant, Harry,” Hermione whispered into his ear while Slughorn’s attention was diverted extracting a true copy of his memory with his wand. “I know how hard that was for you.”

Ten minutes later, Harry exited the hospital wing with Hermione in tow, both of them tingling with anticipation as they raced to the headmaster’s office.

**~o0o~**

“Harry, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, his bushy white eyebrows arching in surprise when the two students entered his office, “I certainly didn’t expect to see you both again so soon, given this morning’s turmoil...”

“I’ve got it - Professor Slughorn’s real memory - I have it,” Harry interjected, unable to contain himself. Hermione fidgeted beside him, beaming proudly.

Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes widened, momentarily astounded when Harry handed him a crystal vial full of swirling silvery mist. His face broke into a smile and his eyes began to twinkle.

“My word Harry! This is magnificent news indeed! I had no doubt that you would eventually get through to him like no other, but I must confess, I did not expect you to succeed quite so quickly.”

“Er... I had help.” Harry grinned at Hermione. “Hermione helped me work out the right way to approach Professor Slughorn...” 

“But Dumbledore’s right,” said Hermione, turning slightly pink. “Only you could have done it in the end, Harry.”

Dumbledore’s smile broadened as he peered at the young pair cannily, pleased to see that his earlier rumination was coming to fruition. 

“Ah, regardless Miss Granger, it would seem that there is some credit to be shared. Well done, the both of you.” 

Dumbledore stood up, pushing his chair back and striding eagerly over to the cabinet containing his Pensieve, then placing it carefully on his desk and tipping the contents of the vial into it. He beckoned his two pupils, indicating that they should enter the memory first.

One after the other, Harry and Hermione submerged their faces into the billowing clouds, tumbling into the Pensieve, followed by the headmaster. A short while later, the three of them emerged from the stone basin, landing feet first on the Persian rug in front of Dumbldore’s desk.

Dumbledore looked somewhat shaken as he took his seat once more, but unsurprised. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, looking equally appalled. Dumbledore conjure up a steaming pot of Earl Grey and three cups. They all sat sipping their tea for a few minutes before Dumbledore seemed ready to begin.

“Well, this certainly confirms my worst fears,” said the headmaster. “It would appear that our work is cut out for us.”

“Seven Horcruxes!” Harry still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Voldemort was willing to tear his soul into so many pieces even though he knew that Riddle had killed countless people. 

“Well, technically six, plus you, Harry,” said Hermione anxiously. “Voldemort would have counted himself as one of the pieces of soul.”

“Indeed!” Dumbledore nodded. “Quite so, Miss Granger.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “So that means there are only four left then - besides me... I killed the diary, and you killed the ring.”

“Yes, I believe so,” Dumbledore agreed. “The difficulty which remains is determining what the rest of horcruxes are, and where Voldemort may have hidden them.”

“I suppose my scar will help a bit,” Harry muttered. “It gets more painful whenever Voldemort’s near or when he’s feeling particularly angry. I never really paid it much attention in second year, but I think the diary was making it hurt. ... I reckoned it was just Voldemort brooding at the time. If we look in the most likely places, my scar ought to pinpoint the horcruxes.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, looking a bit surprised again. “Intriguing! That is a very credible deduction which hadn’t occurred to me, Harry. ... In any case, I believe I can shed some light on at least two of the items, and perhaps even a third, and it is possible that we may deduce some of their locations. There are two more memories worth perusing, if you would both care to join me in the Pensieve again...”

Twice more the headmaster and his students tumbled into the stone basin and returned. Taking their seats once more, and sipping fresh cups of tea, the discussion continued. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair quietly, listening to Harry and Hermione’s take on what they had witnessed.

“So, Slytherin’s Locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup...” Harry mused. “Maybe Voldemort made the Sword of Gryffindor and something of Ravenclaw’s into horcruxes too, then.”

“Well, the Sword of Gryffindor isn’t very likely from what you told me about the Chamber of Secrets, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “It only presents itself to worthy Gryffindors...”

“Oh! Right... of course,” Harry groaned, feeling a bit stupid.

“...But it’s possible he might have got his hands on Ravenclaw’s Diadem,” Hermione added. “It’s another famous artifact of one of the Founders which went missing ages ago. So that’s something to consider.”

“Okay!” said Harry, brightening. “That makes sense, Hermione - he’d do anything to find it. I bet he did. So that just leaves one more to work out.”

“But there doesn’t seem to be much to go on as to where they might be,” Hermione grumbled. “Professor Dumbledore found the one at the Gaunts, and Voldemort’s not very likely to have left one at his father’s estate - Professor Dumbledore would’ve found it too anyway. And I doubt Voldemort would hide one at the orphanage.”

“Well, we know Riddle returned to Hogwarts to try and get a job,” Harry reasoned. “Maybe he hid one of the horcruxes here before he met Professor Dumbledore, or before he left.”

“Hmm... If he had enough time, that’s a good possibility,” Hermione agreed, nodding her bushy head. “But where?”

“Maybe the Chamber of Secrets!” Harry proffered eagerly, sure that was where Voldemort would have hidden it.

“But would he have had time, Harry?” Hermione bit her lip and peered at him. “He wouldn’t have wanted Professor Dumbledore to get suspicious if he’d hung around too long after being turned down for the job. It would have to be somewhere he had relatively easy access to.” Hermione glanced at Dumbledore quickly.

Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is true that Riddle was in the castle for a short while after departing my office - several of the portraits confirmed as much. But I’m doubtful that he would have had time to visit the Chamber. And he reached my office very shortly after his arrival at the front doors.”

Harry and Hermione both racked their brains trying to think of more places to hide things - especially important things that Voldemort wouldn’t want anyone else to find. Thunderstruck, Harry’s eyes widened when it hit him.

 _“The Room of Requirement!”_ Harry gasped. “I’d bet you _**anything**_ Voldemort found it when he was at school here.” His heart racing, Harry turned to look at Dumbledore. “Malfoy was working on that Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, right sir? That’s what you told us. Maybe Riddle hid something _there.”_

Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Excellent Harry! That is a splendid suggestion indeed! And if your hypothesis regarding your scar is correct, we may see another horcrux defeated this very afternoon...” 

The headmaster looked almost giddy when he addressed Hermione. “And Miss Granger, I do believe your deduction regarding Ravenclaw’s Diadem is very likely. All that remains to be seen then, is which horcrux is secreted in the Room of Requirement. Well, there is no time like the present, shall we then...?”

Dumbledore stood up quickly and gestured towards the door of his office, indicating that Harry and Hermione should lead the way before retrieving a necessary item adorning the wall of his office. 

Harry practically sprinted through the castle and up the stairs, and down a corridor, Hermione puffing as she tried to keep up, Dumbledore not far behind. Several third year Ravenclaw girls squeaked with surprise and flattened themselves against a wall, gawking at the odd trio barreling past them. 

Panting, Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore finally reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The woven portrait of Barnabas was nearly flattened by a troll in a tutu when he was distracted by the strange threesome who had breathlessly come to screeching halt in front of him. Even the trolls stopped pirouetting on the tips of their toes to see what was going on.

Harry paced back and forth several times, then pushed open the door which had magically made its appearance. 

His jaw dropped at the sight within, beholding an enormous cavernous room, bigger than a cathedral, containing mountains and heaps of all manner of items from the mundane to the bizarre stacked on top of each other. Rays of cold light streamed through the windows in the vaulted ceiling, piercing the whorls of dust swirling in the air. Hermione’s breath caught in awe as she looked over Harry’s shoulder.

“Is... is this it?” asked Harry, his voice nearly a whisper, his chest still heaving rapidly in shallow breaths.

“Indeed it is, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “After viewing Draco Malfoy’s memory, I came searching for the Vanishing Cabinet myself, to ensure that it was quite beyond repair. I located it and dismantled it completely. 

“Now... take a moment Harry. Still your thoughts and take a deep breath - several if you have to. Then tell me what you feel.”

Harry tried to calm himself and closed his eyes, remembering his Occlumency training, ignoring the thoughts swirling in his head and the feelings coursing through his nerves. He allowed his scar to itch and burn, trying to separate out the sensations which were coming through the link between himself and Voldemort from those he hoped were coming from a horcrux. 

But the Second Technique wasn’t quite enough. Harry reached for Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze, breathing in deeply through his nose, releasing it through his lips slowly as he felt her warmth and affection spread up his arm and through his body. The pain in his scar flickered - the sensation of Voldemort within faded - his scar throbbed, pulsed, beating in time with another piece of Riddle - not the one at the other end of his inner-connection, but with one on the outside, somewhere in the chamber. 

Harry could feel it impinging on the surface of his skin, reaching painfully through his scar, seeking out the link inside him. 

“It’s here,” he said, opening his eyes. “I can feel it. Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand Hermione. As long as I can feel you, I can block Voldemort and feel the horcrux.”

“I won’t let go Harry,” said Hermione, licking her dry lips nervously and gripping Harry’s hand as tightly as she could. “I promise!”

That promise was almost broken when Harry - focused as intently as he was on following the source of the pain in his scar - nearly tripped over several bottles of sherry, sending them clattering across the stone floor until they were stopped by what looked like a giant stuffed troll. Hermione grunted as she grabbed Harry’s arm with her other hand and held him upright.

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry muttered. 

Hermione glanced upwards when movement caught her eye. “There’s fanged frisbees too,” she sighed. “Keep an eye on your feet, and I’ll look out above.”

Dumbledore tried his hardest to follow his own advice, practically holding his breath as he followed Harry and Hermione through the canyons of centuries worth of detritus, passing a broken desk piled high with old editions of _Naughty Witches_ magazines, and a stack of books with racy titles and pictures of scantily clad witches and wizards engaging in scandalous acts on their covers. 

_“Duck!”_ shouted Hermione, pulling Harry out of the way when a Self-Slinging Slingshot sent a glittering red and gold gobstone flying at his head. Dumbledore waved his wand and the slingshot fell behind a mound of filthy old robes. 

“Blimey! It’s like a bloody death trap in here.” Harry eyed a gigantic battle-axe with a stained blade, and the dented suit of armour beside it nervously, hoping it wouldn’t suddenly spring to life. Harry paused and closed his eyes again, taking several more deep breaths.

When Harry began moving again, he crept cautiously down the aisle, and took a number of turns, leading Hermione by the hand as Dumbledore kept pace behind them. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows when they took a left at the pile of wooden ebony panels which had once been the Vanishing Cabinet.

Harry came to a dead stop when he finally reached a cupboard corroded by acid. His heart thumping wildly, a sharp searing sensation in his scar, he peered around, seeing a crumbling bust of an ugly old sorcerer on top of a nearby crate. His eyes fell on something glinting on a battered bookshelf beside it - a tarnished, ancient looking silver tiara.

Hermione gasped when she saw what Harry was looking at. Dumbledore stepped forward eagerly, his eyes widening.

“Is... could that that be the horcrux?” asked Harry as he stared at the tiara, almost certain that it was.

“Yes, Harry - Ravenclaw’s Diadem,” Dumbledore murmured, nodding slowly, barely able to believe it himself. “Magnificent! ... Truly magnificent,” he said, lifting the tiara from the dusty shelf riddled with woodworm. “You have done splendidly, Harry!”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione squealed. “You’ve done it! You actually found one.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Hermione.” Harry shot her a grin, the pain in his scar ebbing slightly when she blushed and pulled him into a hug. 

“Quite so,” Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Perhaps then, you would do us the honour Miss Granger.” Dumbledore reached into his outer robes, and drew the Sword of Gryffindor from the scabbard hidden beneath.

 _“Me?”_ Hermione squeaked.

Dumbledore nodded, beaming. “ Thus far, Harry has defeated Riddle’s Diary, and I his Ring. As Harry’s partner, it seems only fitting that you should be afforded this opportunity.”

Hermione swallowed nervously, taking the long silver blade from Dumbledore’s hand. She shivered slightly as she held the bejeweled hilt of the sword for the first time. She glanced at Harry, who nodded as the headmaster had done.

“Go on Hermione,” Harry urged. “This one’s all yours!”

“If... if you’re sure,” she said uncertainly.

“Absolutely sure,” said Harry. “Dumbledore’s right. You’re my partner... more than that really. You deserve a shot to help me finish Voldemort.”

“Okay! Alright then.” Hermione gulped again and lofted the heavy sword with both hands as Dumbledore set the diadem on the stone floor in front of her. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “You can do this... you can do this,” she muttered to herself. 

With a grunt, Hermione swung the sword, striking the diadem, sending up a shower of sparks. The diadem shuddered; an ear-piercing shriek echoed throughout the Room of Hidden Things. A tornado of smoke billowed from the diadem as it rocked and screeched. A gale force wind swept through the chamber, whipping at their robes. 

Harry staggered and fell to his knees groaning, clutching at his scar which felt all it once as if it were about to burst while being skewered with a blazing fire iron.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed, dropping the sword with a clang and flinging her arms around him. 

The diadem trembled, letting out one final shriek, and the howling tempest came to an end as a pustulant black venom oozed from the shattered crown. 

Looking slightly aghast, Dumbledore picked up the sword and peered at Harry with concern. 

“Harry?”

“Bloody Hell!” Harry swore, pale and clammy, his scar still feeling like a raw burn. “So _that’s_ what that was... Last summer - while I was with the Dursleys - one night... I thought it was just Voldemort being angry about something... But it was when you destroyed the Ring - it must have been. The only other times I’ve felt like that was whenever Voldemort was right there too. ... And when I stabbed the Diary with the Basilisk Fang I thought I was just in pain from everything else...”

“Doesn’t that mean that Voldemort knows, then? ...that we’re destroying his horcruxes?” Hermione asked, her eyes still full of tears as she cuddled Harry. “Wouldn’t he feel it too?”

“I do not believe so Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. “There is no indication that he was ever aware of the destruction of the Ring. I suspect that Voldemort’s soul is too badly damaged for him to have the necessary self-awareness to recognise when a piece of it goes missing. 

“In any case, Harry, I am truly sorry. I had no idea...”

“It’s alright!” said Harry, clambering to his feet with Hermione’s assistance and rubbing at his scar. “I don’t care. I can put up with it. ... It’s worth it knowing that we’ve done in a bit more of Voldemort, and the pain’ll go away eventually. I’ll be fine by this evening.”

“Be that as it may, Harry, I expect a pain potion from Madam Pomfrey will ease your suffering. I think a visit to the hospital wing is in order.”

**~o0o~**

Draco swallowed nervously as he stared at the little cottage in the wooded vale, water dripping from the light blond hair plastered to his forehead. The wind picked up and the rain continued to plummet from coal-grey skies above. His heart thumping loudly against the wall of his chest, his stomach tied up in knots, Draco glanced at the Dark Lord’s coldly neutral features.

“S...sir? Why are we here?” Draco finally dared to ask.

“A lesson, Draco... and a test of your resolve,” the Dark Lord replied, his voice high and icy. “If you are to eventually redeem your father’s disgrace, I must be certain that you truly are prepared for any future tasks which I may have in store for you. I must see for myself that you have the capacity to take your father’s place at my side.”

Draco nodded in understanding, feeling an odd mix of elation and terror - grateful that the Dark Lord wasn’t going to kill him, and grateful that he was being given another chance to prove his worth. He eyed the cottage, seeing movement inside through the rain streaked windows.

“What... What did they do?” asked Draco.

“Does it matter?”

“N...no!” Draco said quickly. “I... I was just wondering.”

The Dark Lord’s head tilted slightly, the barest hint of a wry smile curling the corners of his lips.

“Of course,” hissed the Dark Lord. “To answer your question, their mere existence is reason enough. I chose a lesson which I believe should prove rewarding to you. I was given to understand that you were eager to participate in the events at the Quidditch World Cup, but that you were ordered to remain in the nearby woods by your father. Is that true?”

“Yes!” Draco nodded again, feeling a flicker of excitement in his lower abdomen when the scene replayed itself in his mind - the scene of the muggle camp manager, his wife, and children being held aloft, high above the campgrounds by the spells of Draco’s father and the other Death Eaters - the camp manager’s wife dangled upside down revealing all that lay beneath her nightgown. 

“Then this should be sport for you, Draco - more recreation than schooling. These are simply muggles - their only worth is as chattel - playthings for the amusement of superior species such as ourselves.” The Dark Lord noted with satisfaction the hesitation in Draco’s eyes diminishing - replaced with something far more useful to him.

“Come Draco - Show me how you would toy with those who only live at our sufferance.” 

His wand in hand, the Dark Lord strode along the cobblestone pathway and the door of the cottage flew open with a bang, startling its inhabitants. Draco scurried behind the Dark Lord, splashing through puddles and treading mud into the foyer. 

“What the bloody hell?” shouted a balding man with glasses who had pushed his wife, son, and daughter behind him. “Whadda you lot think you’re doin’? Get outta my house!”

The Dark Lord chuckled mirthlessly, aiming his wand at the muggle. The balding man froze in place, shocked, unable to do more than blink his eyelids; his wife and daughter screamed when he toppled over and stared at them from the floor.

“Now Draco,” the Dark Lord hissed, “Show me what your father and your dear Auntie Bellatrix have taught you. Show me how your inferiors deserve to be treated.”

There was a moment in which Draco hesitated again, wishing he had Crabbe or Goyle - or his father - to do the dirty work for him. But then Draco remembered he was a Malfoy - a Pureblood - a Noble. If his father could do it, then so could he. 

Draco took a deep breath - his mild nausea fading as the knot in his stomach loosened. He felt his trepidation fall away to be supplanted by a surge of confidence and desire, more than glad that he himself was not presently being held under threat by the Dark Lord’s wand. 

Draco aimed his own wand first at the dark haired boy with glasses, imagining him to be Potter.

“Crucio,” growled Draco, a sneer on his lips. 

The arc of magic leapt from the end of Draco’s wand - a red bolt of lightning - and the boy fell to the ground screaming as his mother and sister both sobbed in horror. Draco aimed his wand at the teenage girl, imagining her to be Granger as he considered which spell to use next, and the cottage once again filled with screams...

**~o0o~**

Harry felt a bit better after a pain potion and a calming draught, unable to believe how much had happened in the space of a few hours - saving Slughorn, then finding and killing another Horcrux.

“Blimey!” Dora gasped, when Harry and Hermione had filled her in on most of the details over a late lunch which they were still eating. “I can’t believe there was one of those bloody things in the castle, and that you managed to find it. So, that’s it then, three horcruxes down...”

“...and three more to go,” said Hermione, beaming. “And I just know we’ll find some way to get rid of the piece of Voldemort in Harry...”

“...and Dumbledore reckons that Voldemort’s snake is probably the other horcrux,” said Harry. “I’m still not sure how he works that out though.”

“Maybe because you saw some things through his snake’s eyes,” Hermione suggested, looking a bit uncertain, “like the muggle caretaker getting killed at Riddle Manor, and like Mr Weasley getting bitten...”

“But Dumbledore told me at the end of fifth year that he thought it was because Voldemort was possessing Nagini at the time,” Harry pointed out. 

“Oh!” Hermione bit her lip and frowned. 

“Well... Dumbledore did suggest this time that he thought that Voldemort ‘had an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth’...” she said, quoting Dumbledore word for word, “so maybe Dumbledore’s rethought things a bit. Especially given your link with the other Horcruxes - that might explain why you saw the murder of the old caretaker through Nagini’s eyes, even though Voldemort wasn’t possessing her at the time.”

Harry thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, alright then. That does seem to explain why Dumbledore thinks Nagini’s a horcrux too then.” Harry glanced at Dora who shrugged.

“I really dunno enough about this sort of thing,” said Dora, “I remember how upset you were when you stayed at Grimmauld Place over Christmas that year - thinkin’ you somehow did it to Arthur yourself, but it was obvious that you hadn’t really - that’s all I know. 

“But what Hermione said makes the most sense. So I bet that’s what Dumbledore’s thinking too. Anyway, any other clues where to look for the other ones?”

“Not really,” Harry sighed. “But Dumbledore’s going through some of the memories again, and he seems like he might have a possible lead on one of the others. He said he’d let us know, and that we’d all go and look for it together if he thinks it’s worth it - you too, Dora.”

“Right! Excellent... Could use a field-trip. I’ve been feeling a bit cooped up ‘ere at ‘Hogwarts,” Dora added with a grin and a wink. “‘Opefully it’ll be somewhere nice, like the seaside,” she chortled.

“Yeah, right!” Harry grinned. “Voldemort at the beach? That’s bloody likely!”

“Voldy in swimming trunks - now there’s an ‘orrible thought,” Dora snorted mirthfully. 

Hermione giggled, and gave a mock shiver. “Oh, that’s nice, Dora! Thanks for the image!”

“Well, there’s one way of gettin’ over it,” said Dora, raising her eyebrows with a meaningful look at Hermione.

Harry reddened, suddenly finding more interest in the remains of his bangers and mash as Dora and Hermione both giggled. 

“Sorry Harry!” Dora gave him an apologetic grin. “I think I’m done with lunch for now anyway, so I’ll just let you both get on with things.”

Finishing their own lunches shortly after Dora departed, Harry washed the plates off in the little kitchen sink and set them on the rack to dry. Harry knew a house-elf - probably Dobby, who had brought them lunch in his and Hermione’s quarters - would collect them at some point, but it didn’t occur to him to simply leave the dishes sitting around dirty.

Hermione had already cleaned her teeth by the time Harry was finished, and Harry followed suit. By this time, Harry was feeling a bit drowsy after the eventful morning and yawned. 

“Come on Harry,” said Hermione, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek and leading him to their bedroom. “Madam Pomfrey said you should just rest up anyway.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry agreed.

Harry let out a contented little sigh as he settled on their bed with Hermione in his arms. Whatever remained of the pain in his scar abated under Hermione’s affections - her minty kisses, and her gentle caresses - stroking his messy thatch of hair.

Hermione snuggled against Harry, nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She bit her lip, seeing the peace in his eyes, considering other ways to ease his burdens, thinking that maybe soon, she might be ready to go just a bit further.


	10. The Changing of the Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explicit version of this Chapter is now available in Damaged Bridges: The Steamy Chapters.

As March approached and the weather became a bit dryer, Harry was glad to see that Ron appeared to be gradually getting over things. 

Ron was spending much of his free time with Neville, whenever he wasn’t begging Ernie MacMillan to help him with his homework or snogging Lavender Brown - which Ron continued to do frequently and publicly. Harry had also spied Ron exiting empty classrooms on several occasions with Lavender, grinning and looking extremely pleased himself as he and Lavender straightened out their rumpled robes.

On the latest occasion, as Lavender smoothed her skirt, apparently looking for signs of cleanliness, she turned a bit pink and bit her lip with embarrassment when she spotted Harry and Hermione walking by. Ron turned around to see who had caught Lavender’s attention.

“Oh, hi Harry! Didn’t see you there,” said Ron, looking almost insufferably smug and puffed up like a peacock. 

Hermione smiled at Lavender and rolled her eyes at Ron. Harry arched one eyebrow and found himself once again hoping that Ron wasn’t just exploiting Lavender’s affections.

But with all of his extra homework, trying desperately to catch up in Runes and Arithmancy, practicing Occlumency and Legilimency, and spending his free time with Hermione, Harry was far too busy to make the time to see how things were really going with Ron. 

It was during Quidditch practice that Harry reckoned Ron’s extracurricular activities with Lavender were at least having some positive effects on Ron. Ron’s aggressiveness had ebbed a fair bit during the weeks following the Christmas holidays, and he was no longer yelling at Demelza Robbins and making her cry. 

Harry was thankful that tensions between Ron and Ginny also seemed to have diminished, and that Ron was performing better than ever during practice. The worst thing that could be said about the situation was that Ron’s newfound self-confidence was accompanied by a bit of an inflated head. 

Ginny smirked and shook her head when Ron swaggered off the pitch and swept Lavender off her feet with a kiss steamy enough to melt an iceberg.

“Filthy hypocrite!” Ginny snorted mirthfully, rolling her eyes. “I wonder how far he’s got his tongue down her throat.”

“I really don’t need to know,” said Harry, grinning as he waved at Luna who was waving and sitting in the stands with Hermione. Dean took off when he spied Seamus at the edge of the pitch.

“So, how’re things with you and Dean?” Harry asked as Ginny beamed and waved back at Luna. “Er... everything alright? I haven’t seen you two together as much lately.”

“Hunh?” said Ginny, who seemed to have been briefly distracted. Inexplicably, Ginny reddened, her eyes flicking up to the stands again when she registered Harry’s question.

“Oh... er... We’re sort of taking a break,” said Ginny vaguely, looking distracted again as Luna and Hermione came down from the stands to meet them. 

Harry’s own thoughts were interrupted when he caught a flash of green and silver out of the corner of his eye; the Slytherin Quidditch team had just entered the pitch with their new Seeker, who had been training since the Christmas holidays.

Blaise Zabini caught Harry’s eye as he strode past. This was the closest they had been to each other since Slughorn’s Christmas party, as they were usually on opposite sides of the classroom during Potions. Much to Harry’s puzzlement, Zabini briefly halted.

“I really ought to thank you, Potter,” said Zabini, smirking. “I never stood a chance of getting on the team with Malfoy hogging all the glory.”

“Er... what?” Harry muttered, his stomach knotting as he wondered what Zabini had heard. “I didn’t have anything to do with that...”

“Sure you didn’t!” Zabini retorted skeptically. “Whatever you say! Don’t sweat it too much though, Potter! ... Whatever happens between us on the pitch stays on the pitch, alright?” Zabini gave Harry a wink and smirked again as he stalked off, following the rest of the team.

“What’s up Harry?” asked Hermione, looking a bit worried when she spotted Harry gaping in bewilderment at the Slytherin team. “Did Zabini say something to you?”

“Er, yeah,” said Harry, still looking surprised. “I think it’s alright though. Zabini thanked me... and I think he meant it.”

“He did? What did he thank you for?” asked Hermione, her own eyebrows shooting up. 

“He seems to think I had something to do with Malfoy leaving Hogwarts,” Harry replied. “And he seems okay with it... okay with me.”

“Oh!” Hermione bit her lip and looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging and half-smiling. “Well, he’s not entirely wrong, is he?”

“No! ... S’pose not,” Harry agreed.

“I expect he’s happy to be out from under Malfoy’s shadow,” Hermione added.

“Yeah!” Harry nodded as Hermione took his arm and they followed Ginny and Luna - who were whispering and giggling to one another - off the pitch. “That’s more or less what Zabini said to me.”

The rest of the day continued smoothly enough until after dinner when Dora escorted Harry and Hermione back to their quarters. Dora seemed a bit quiet and moody again, as she had on the occasions Harry and Hermione had seen her during the school-term before Christmas, her hair a muted shade of violet and listless. 

Hermione bit her lip sadly and glanced at Harry, catching his look of silent agreement.

“Er... Do you want to hang out a bit tonight?” Hermione asked Dora.

“Oh... er... Sorry! I don’t wanna spoil your evening,” Dora replied, reddening when she realised that she’d been telegraphing her mood. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione. “If you’re feeling sad or lonely, you can tell us about it. We’re your friends.”

“Er... You sure you don’t mind?” Dora glanced at Harry uncertainly. Harry shook his head.

“Of course not,” said Harry. “Hermione’s right. Why don’t you join us for a bit?”

“Okay.” Dora nodded. “Ta guys. I could do with a bit of company I suppose.”

Soon enough, the three of them were seated in front of the crackling fire in Harry and Hermione’s sitting room, bathed in its orange glow and sipping steaming mugs of cocoa. Hedwig blinked, peering down at them from the top of a wardrobe, and Crookshanks purred, curled up Dora’s lap, soft music playing in the background on the wizard wireless.

There was mostly quiet for a while, occasionally interspersed with bits of innocuous conversation. Harry mentioned the almost amiable exchange between himself and Zabini earlier that afternoon. Finally, Dora seemed to have worked up the nerve to talk about what was bothering her when she finished her cocoa and took a deep breath.

“It’s Remus,” Dora sighed. “I’m really worried about ‘im.”

“Oh!” said Harry, unable to avoid looking surprised. “I thought... er, Sirius...” Harry trailed off, feeling very embarrassed.

“Nah!” Dora shook her head, a brief wry smile crossing her lips as she caught on. “I mean, yeah... I do think about Sirius a bit still. He used to come over a lot to visit Mum and Dad when I was little, before ‘e got thrown in Azkaban - so we were close, but he was more like an uncle than a cousin. I always ‘ad a hard time believin’ he’d done... er... it. 

“Anyway, it’s Remus... I guess I’ve just got it bad for him,” Dora continued, blushing. “I dunno why really. I know ‘e’s a lot older than me, but there’s just somethin’ about him... something real sweet! I asked ‘im out a couple o’ times last year - the first time before everything that happened at the Ministry.

“He tried to let me down easy, but he didn’t sound a hundred percent, so I just reckoned I’d wait a bit and give it another go. But when I asked Remus again, later in the summer before school term started, he flat out said no! ... said he was too old and poor, and too dangerous. 

“I know that mostly he’s just worried ‘cause he’s a werewolf, and he thinks ‘e might hurt me, but he was pretty adamant. It kind of crushed me and I’ve been tryin’ my best to just forget about him...”

“Oh!” said Hermione. “Is... is that why your Patronus changed? Harry told me about what Snape said to you at the beginning of term, after you found Harry on the Hogwarts express.”

“Snape!” hissed Dora, scowling furiously. “I know he’s Dumbledore’s spy and all, but I hate that arsehole! I dunno what Snape’s fucking problem is! He always was a right bastard, but I don’t remember him treating me _**that**_ bad when I took Potions with him back in my Hogwarts days. 

“Somethin’ about my Patronus set ‘im off. I suppose it has something t’do with Remus - they never seemed to get on - but I dunno why...”

“My dad,” Harry muttered, flushing guiltily. “Because Lupin and Sirius were good friends with my dad. Snape hated all of them when they were in school together. My dad was a real arsehole to Snape once, and Sirius was egging my dad on... Lupin was there too, kind of just watching... letting it happen...” 

“Oh!” Dora’s expression changed to one of surprise. “I knew Sirius and Snape hated each other’s guts, but I didn’t know that was why.”

“ _ **I**_ think there’s more to the story though,” said Hermione a bit sharply, frowning at Harry. “Harry’s mum was there too, and Snape called her a ‘Mudblood’ when she tried to stick up for him... so I don’t think Snape can have really been an _innocent_ victim. 

“Maybe your dad _was_ bullying Snape _that_ day, Harry, but if Snape was calling your mother a Mudblood, it can’t have been the first time he’d ever been horrid to muggleborn. Snape had probably bullied muggleborn students before, and that might be why your father picked on him that day.”

“I suppose,” said Harry quietly. “It was still pretty horrible though - what my dad did to him. I know it’s obvious that Snape hated muggleborn, even back then, but Snape wasn’t even doing anything. Sirius just said he was bored, and my dad just seemed to think it would be a laugh to have a go at Snape.”

Dora looked perplexed for a moment. 

“Well, I can’t say anything about your dad Harry - I never knew him,” she said, “but Hermione’s got a point. I can tell you from my own school-days, and my mum and dad’s, not all Slytherins are rotten to the core - Mum wasn’t, after all - but the ones ‘oo ran around calling all the muggleborn - like Hermione and my dad - ‘Mudblood,’ were all nasty little bullies. 

“Those sort almost all joined up with Voldemort after they left school, like Snape and the Malfoys. So Snape was probably one of that lot, runnin’ around with a gang of junior Death Eaters...”

“That’s more or less what Sirius told us during fourth year,” said Hermione, nodding.

“Yeah... he did say that,” Harry agreed uncertainly. 

“There you go then!” said Dora. “I’m not sayin’ what your dad did was right, Harry, mind you. But even if he was picking on Snape for no good reason on _that particular day,_ a lot of muggleborn who were going to school at the same time who had been bullied by Snape and his mates would’ve probably reckoned Snape had it coming. So try not to judge your dad too harshly without knowing all the facts.”

“I suppose...” Harry still looked very uncomfortable. “But all Sirius and Lupin told me was that my dad eventually grew out of it. Either way, I just can’t see treating anyone that badly unless they were doing something really horrible to deserve it right then... in that moment.”

“That’s because you’re a really kind person Harry,” said Hermione, smiling wanly at him and taking his hand. 

“Too true!” said Dora, shooting him a quick grin. “You’re a real sweetie Harry - a lot like Remus in that regard...”

Harry flushed again, this time with embarrassment; did _everyone_ think he was a Goody Two Shoes?

“Anyway, to get back to what I was saying,” Dora went on, “my Patronus used to be a stupid Jackrabbit. It changed into a wolf sometime around the time Remus turned me down flat - I didn’t know it had changed until after it happened. ... I didn’t even know they could do that! But apparently they _can_ after a particularly emotional event or something... like fallin’ head over heels.”

Dora sighed. “Nothin’ I can do about it though! So I just keep trying to let it go and not get too upset, but every time I hear something, I can’t help worryin’ about him...”

“What do you mean, ‘hear something’?” asked Harry, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as a chill ran up his spine; Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened. “Has something happened to Lupin?”

“Oh... No!” Dora’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No! Nothing’s happened... at least that I know of. Sorry Harry! ... It’s just, Remus is on an undercover mission hanging out with other werewolves, finding out who’s on Voldy’s side and who’s not - stuff like that. He’s been gone a while - since the Christmas holidays - and... and I just asked Dumbledore if he’s heard from Remus recently, but... nothin’... So that’s why I’m a bit down at the mouth right now.

“I’m sure ‘e’s alright though,” Dora added unconvincingly. 

“Yeah!” Harry nodded, trying to believe it himself, feeling a dead weight in the pit of his stomach at the idea that the last link to his parents was on such a dangerous mission. It suddenly struck him that Lupin was as much his family as Sirius had been - not an official godfather maybe, but as good as. 

“Yeah...” Harry repeated hollowly, “Lupin... Remus, he can look after himself - he’s a great wizard.”

Hermione let go of Harry’s hand and gave Dora a hug, squeezing her tightly. 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright, Dora,” she murmured. 

There was a bit of silence as the three of them sipped fresh mugs of cocoa and nibbled on chocolate covered digestives. When it came time to call it a night, Dora felt a bit guilty seeing Harry and Hermione in such a somber mood.

“Thanks loads guys,” said Dora as she stood in the doorway. “It feels good to get that off my chest. Sorry to bring you both down though...”

When Harry had finished cleaning his teeth that night, he was surprised to find that Hermione had brought her _Hello Kitty_ nightie back to Hogwarts with her; he hadn’t seen her wearing it since the Christmas holidays. Hermione’s cheeks took on a rosy hue when she noticed Harry staring at it, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Er... I just brought it back with me because it’s sort of comforting, in case I felt a bit depressed - it was always my favourite - but I haven’t really needed it with you to cuddle at nights,” she said matter of factly.

“Oh!” Harry turned a bit pink himself, but he couldn’t help grinning. “Well I love it too! You look really cute in it.”

Hermione bit her lip and batted her eyelashes shyly, her cheeks growing even warmer. She snuggled next to Harry feeling more cheered, her arm wound around him tightly. In no time, Hermione was fast asleep, a smile creeping to her lips as she slumbered, bespeaking of happy dreams.

When she woke the following morning, the gentle rise and fall of Harry’s chest, his pulse slow under the palm of her hand, told Hermione that he was still asleep. But she caught the tent in the bedclothes out of the corner of her eye; a little flutter in her tummy and a tingle of arousal made her think. 

Finally reaching a decision, and before she could change her mind, Hermione tugged off her nightie and flung it to the end of the bed, then snuggled back into the crook of Harry’s shoulder.

Harry stirred, feeling loads better than he had last night. He wondered if he was still dreaming when he felt his hand pressed against bare skin. But as he blinked his bleary eyes, Hermione’s nervous little giggle suggested that he was properly awake.

“Blimey Hermione!” He gasped, his eyes nearly falling out of his head, jerking his hand away from her upper back. 

“Wh...what’s going on?” Harry dragged his eyes away from Hermione’s bare upper-torso. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows, fixing Harry with a determinedly neutral stare and answering his query with a question of her own.

“How long has it been, Harry?”

“Er... what?”

“Since you last masturbated,” said Hermione bluntly.

Harry’s face grew hot and he groaned, surmising that Hermione must be feeling guilty for exciting him every night with her cuddles.

“Hermione, really... you don’t have to...”

“How long Harry? Come on... answer the question!”

“Er... a couple of days ago,” said Harry, seemingly relenting. “...in the shower,” he added shiftily.

“Liar!” Hermione retorted with a smirk, poking him in the ribs with a forefinger. “The water is always like ice after you use it - I always have to run the hot water for a bit. You’ve been having cold showers for months, haven’t you?”

Harry groaned again, flushing like a ripe tomato, feeling guilty, knowing that he’d been caught out.

“Come on, admit it Harry!” 

“Okay... Yeah!” Harry sighed. “I’m sorry Hermione! ... Look, really... you don’t have to...”

“It’s alright Harry,” said Hermione, managing to look earnest despite letting out a nervous little giggle. “I... I’m not sure I’m quite ready to go all the way yet. But I definitely think I’m ready for a bit more than cuddles now. I want to!”

“Er... if you’re sure,” said Harry, gulping anxiously.

“I am... I’m sure! And I’ve still got some vials of calming draught - just in case I do have a nasty reaction.”

“Er... okay then!” Harry squeaked.

He let out a gasp as Hermione slipped her hand under his pyjama top and felt her trailing her fingers across his chest.

“You can touch me too, Harry,” she urged.

Harry felt a surge of excitement, still not quite believing that this was actually happening. He reached out his own slightly shaking hand to return Hermione’s intimate affections.

Elated that Harry’s touch was triggering nothing but ever greater desire, her pulse racing, Hermione responded with an amorous look and a wet snog; Harry felt a bit bolder and ventured further. Caresses traveled across curves as the pair explored one another, the fervor growing more intense with every touch.

Intoxicated by Hermione’s passion wrought features, framed as they were by her tawny mane of hair, and the surging tide of euphoria, Harry lost himself. Hermione quivered, then, giddily, with a blissful squeal, she slumped nearly atop Harry, peppering his face with kisses, nuzzling his neck affectionately.

Grinning, after he’d recovered somewhat, several minutes later, Harry peered at Hermione questioningly.

“So... er... alright then?”

“Better than alright!” Hermione gushed, beaming back at Harry. “And you?”

“Fantastic!” said Harry, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “Even more amazing than I’d imagined...”

**~o0o~**

Harry spent the rest of Saturday feeling slightly dazed. But he nonetheless managed to remember that it was the first of March, and thus Ron’s birthday. Harry reckoned that despite everything, he ought to at least wish Ron a Happy Birthday and give him his present. He went to look for Ron by the Quidditch pitch where he was supposedly hanging out with Lavender, Neville, Seamus and Dean after Ginny mentioned that was where she had last seen him.

Harry left Hermione with Ginny and Luna, who had seemed to be hanging out with each other an awful lot lately. As it turned out, Seamus, Neville and Dean were still there, but mentioned that Ron had headed up to Gryffindor Tower. Armed with the latest password, Harry eventually found Ron up in the sixth year dorm where Ron was sitting on his bed amidst his pile of presents.

“Er... Hi Ron,” said Harry, feeling a bit awkward. Ron seemed a bit startled when he looked up.

“Hey Harry,” he said with a grin. “What’s up?”

Harry relaxed, the tension in his middle draining away, and he felt a surge of hope that Ron was well and truly over things. He’d wished Ron a Happy Birthday at breakfast, but hadn’t been entirely certain if things were really back to normal.

“Just thought I’d bring you your present,” Harry replied, returning Ron’s grin.

“Oh, cheers Harry!” Ron looked a bit surprised. “I was just checking out my other presents - great haul this year,” he added, holding up a solid gold watch. “From Mum and Dad.”

“Cool,” said Harry. “You can add another one to the pile then.” Harry handed the colourfully wrapped parcel to Ron.

Ron ripped through the paper with abandon, and gaped at the present.

“Wicked Harry! Nice one!” Ron brandished the Quidditch Keeper’s gloves excitedly. “I’ve been dying for a pair of my own.” Ron peered at Harry, seeming to notice something a bit different about him. 

“So,” Ron began, a knowing smirk on his face, “you and Hermione then... you finally did it?” Ron made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, thrusting his other forefinger into the ring, just to make sure that Harry got the point.

Harry turned beet-red; he hadn’t realised how obvious it might seem. But he rolled his eyes at Ron’s vulgar hand gesture.

“Blimey Ron! You don’t really expect me to give you the details, do you?” 

“Oh go on Harry! You gotta give me _something!”_ Ron retorted eagerly.

Harry shook his head, half-smiling. “Well, if you _must_ know, we didn’t really go all the way! But that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

“Good enough Harry,” Ron chortled, looking chuffed, as if he still had one up on Harry...

Sunday was as bright and clear as Saturday had been, heralding Spring which was just around the corner, soon to arrive in a few weeks, though there was still a biting chill in air. Dora seemed in a much better mood than she had the night before last, her bubblegum-pink hair several shades brighter, much to Harry and Hermione’s delight. 

“Dumbledore got a message from Remus, late last night,” Dora told them when Hermione asked. “And he also said he’s got a line on you-know-what,” she added with a conspiratorial whisper, glancing around to make sure no-one was listening. “We’re to meet him by the gates after lunch. He’s pretendin’ to go to Hogsmeade, so he’ll be leaving a bit sooner than us.”

**~o0o~**

Harry and Hermione both felt a tingle of anticipation as they strolled through the grounds of Hogwarts, Dora trailing behind them keeping a sharp eye out to make sure that nobody noticed them when they eventually veered towards the woods and took the path down to the gates. Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere, startling them all when they reached the entrance.

“Bloody ‘ell!” Dora grumbled, “Could’ve given us a bit of notice.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as the wrought-iron gates opened. “My apologies, Tonks. Unfortunately there was little opportunity as I was under a Disillusionment Charm. In any case, if you are all ready, we shall be apparating quite a distance, but I know you two are more than up to the task Harry, Miss Granger.” 

Harry, Hermione, and Dora all peered at the map that Dumbledore had handed them. Then, destination firmly in mind, the lane to the village echoed with four loud pops as they all vanished.

The smell of salt was carried by the bitter wind from the blue sea stretching towards the horizon as the wizards took in the sight. The grassy bluff at the top of the cliffs looked like a nice place for a day-trip. Hermione giggled, glancing at Dora who looked stunned.

“I was just jokin’ about the seaside,” said Dora. “Still, no sand, so I suppose Voldy in swimming trunks was definitely out.” 

“So this is where they brought the orphans,” Hermione mused aloud, her bushy hair billowing in the wind, the rays of the sun catching her golden highlights. “It’s a nice place for a picnic. They really did do their best to give the orphans a halfway decent life.”

“Indeed they did, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore agreed, his long silvery beard whipping over his shoulders. “It was one of the better orphanages of its day.” 

“Blimey!” said Harry, peering down the craggy cliffs at the waves crashing on the rocks below as he was buffeted by the strong gusts. “How on earth did young Tom Riddle get down there with two other kids?”

“Very likely Tom climbed down with them, using magic to keep all three of them from slipping and falling to their deaths,” Dumbledore replied. “Of course we shall be apparating to one of the rocks near the entrance of the tunnel. But be careful not to slip, lest the current carry you away.” 

Moments later, the foursome were clambering over slick rocks and were quickly soaked by the spray from the surging tide. One by one they dove into the icy water by the entrance of the dark crevice in the side of the cliff and swam inside, fighting the eddies which threatened to sweep them out to the sea.

The crevice eventually widened and they continued swimming until up ahead the channel appeared to rise from the water. Dumbledore stood up on solid ground. Sputtering, Harry dragged himself onto the ledge and grabbed Hermione’s arm, hauling her up alongside him; she was followed up by Dora.

“Blimey! That water is bloody freezing!” said Dora, shivering as the seawater dripped from her hair and clothes. Indeed they were all half-frozen and soggy. Hermione’s wand was already out as she performed a Drying Charm on herself.

“Harry?” she raised her eyebrows questioningly at him. 

“Er... y...yes please,” said Harry, his teeth chattering, wishing now that he had read next year’s Charms textbook as well. 

Harry felt a warm summer breeze and his clothes rippled, his hair fluttering as if blasted by Aunt Petunia’s electric hair-dryer. Dumbledore waited until Hermione had performed the spell and Dora had followed suit, drying herself. 

Carefully, the four of them watched their footing as they traipsed across the slimy, rocky floor of the tunnel, which opened up into a larger cave. 

“Yes... yes! This is the place,” said Dumbledore as he held his wand aloft, lighting up the cave.

“How can you be sure?” asked Harry.

“Ah, well, take a moment Harry to reach out with your senses. I believe your recent Occlumency training should do the trick.”

Harry and Hermione both did as they were told as Dumbledore and Dora watched, concentrating; the booming crash of waves against the cliffs faded and their skin begin to tingle, prickling, hairs rising as if with static electricity. Hermione gasped. 

“I can feel it...”

“Yeah, me too,” said Harry, “the magic. A wizard definitely enchanted this place. But there’s something about it...”

“...something creepy,” said Hermione, shivering as if still wet and cold.

“It’s Dark magic, isn’t it?” Harry asked the headmaster.

“Quite so Harry.” Dumbledore nodded, and began to slowly rotate. 

Harry moved forward instinctively toward a stretch of craggy wall and placed his palm on the rock. 

“Sir... Professor Dumbledore, the magic feels stronger here.”

Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows rose as he peered at Harry, looking quite impressed. He touched the wall himself.

“Very good Harry! Well done! Your finely attuned senses picked it up faster than me. This is the entrance to another chamber, concealed by magic.” Dumbledore held his hand against rocky wall for several more minutes as everyone patiently watched with bated breath. Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “It would seem that we must make payment in blood to pass - unfortunate, but unsurprising for one such as Voldemort.”

 _“B...blood?”_ Hermione squeaked, looking shocked.

“Yes, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore nodded. “Blood rituals are a common component of many Dark magic spells.”

“Yeah... Of course. That makes sense,” Harry muttered. “Voldemort needed ‘blood of the enemy,’ to reconstitute himself. I suppose if he hadn’t had me kidnapped he would’ve been forced to take someone else who was opposed to him.”

“Quite so, Harry,” Dumbledore agreed as he retrieved a silver dagger which glinted in the wand-lights from within his robes, and placed the blade against his palm. “In any case, I shall make the payment so that we may pass...”

“Like hell you will! You’ve already got one injured hand,” snapped Dora, snatching the dagger from Dumbledore’s hand. 

The headmaster looked a bit taken aback to be countermanded so forcefully. Before he could stop Dora, she had already sliced her palm and pressed it against the wall. As the blood trickled down the rocks, Dora healed her hand with her wand. 

A brightly silver luminescence formed an archway in the rock-face, and the wall within the boundaries of the light shimmered and vanished, revealing an enormous cavern within. Harry, Hermione, and Dora nervously followed Dumbledore inside. Dora kept her eyes peeled for any obvious booby traps or obstacles.

The foursome crept cautiously along the edges of a large black lake, its surface glimmering in the sinister green light which appeared to be emanating from a small island in the middle. Harry clutched Hermione’s hand, reaching out with his senses, blocking the link to Voldemort within; he frowned.

“Er... I’m not sure Professor,” said Harry. “I don’t feel a horcrux in here.”

Dumbledore halted in his tracks and looked disconcerted for a moment. His bushy brows knitted in thought.

“Hmm... Be that as it may Harry, I believe that we should still investigate. Voldemort clearly intended to hide something within this chamber, and I suspect it is on the island. 

“Er, yeah!” Harry agreed. “That makes sense.”

“I am glad you think so,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “In any case, Voldemort must have had some means of reaching the island. Let us continue on, and keep your senses sharp, Harry... And be careful all of you - do not disturb the water.”

At that, Hermione’s eyes widened, and she peered at the still water of the lake, looking for signs of Kelpies, Sea Monsters, and Water Demons. They carefully picked their way over rocks and slimy patches of algae until Harry and Dumbledore both came to a halt again.

“There’s something here, sir, isn’t there?”

“Ah, yes indeed Harry. I believe so.” Dumbledore reached his good hand out, groping in the midair until he clasped something invisible which jangled in his grip. 

He tapped his clenched fist with his wand and a chain of coppery-greenish hue became visible. Slowly, Dumbledore reeled in the chain. Hermione gasped as a tiny little boat bathed in an etheric green light rose from the depths. 

“How are we all going to get across in that?” she asked. “It looks too small for more than one person.”

“ _‘We’_ are not,” Dumbledore replied. “Though I do believe that at least one of you might accompany me...”

“Won’t two be too heavy though?” Harry asked.

“And which one of us should go with you?” asked Dora, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, my best educated guess is that Voldemort would not have considered weight, but the power of the wizard - I doubt that Voldemort would have thought an underage wizard would have made it this far. So I would suggest that you should join me, Harry...”

“Yeah, okay...” Harry began.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dora interjected. “Look, if Harry’s the Chosen One - the one with ‘Power he knows not’ accordin’ to the Prophecy - then I don’t think the boat will hold the both of you ‘cause Harry is obviously magically powerful enough to defeat him.

“If what you’re saying is true, then I don’t think age would make any difference - only the fact of someone that Voldy believes to be as powerful as himself would make a difference...”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully again as he considered Dora’s words. “That is a very fair point, Tonks. But then...” 

“Then _**I**_ should be the one to go,” said Hermione. Harry shot her an anxious look and opened his mouth to object, but Dora beat him to it.

“No! You oughta stay here with Harry,” Dora said insistently. “There’s no way I’m as powerful as Voldy or Dumbledore - so I should be alright, and you’ll be safer here if there’s any traps over there, or somethin’ in the water.”

All three of them peered at the headmaster questioningly, Dora with her eyes narrowed in a fixed glare. Finally Dumbledore seemed to reach a decision.

“Very well, Tonks it is then. If you would be so kind...” Dumbledore gestured towards the boat, indicating that Tonks should go first. Dora nodded and climbed in, and once she had settled, Dumbledore followed suit. 

As the boat began moving of its own accord across the flat, glassy surface of the lake with barely a ripple, Dumbledore could be heard to say, “It would seem that your hypothesis is correct. Voldemort is quite mistaken to overestimate the value of Power above all other considerations. Clearly, you have proven more worthy than Voldemort himself...” 

Harry and Hermione couldn’t see Dora’s face, but they had no doubt that she was blushing furiously at Dumbledore’s high praises. They both fidgeted anxiously as they watched the boat draw nearer to the island. Hermione kept glancing at the water, her grip on Harry’s hand tightening. 

“I don’t like this Harry,” she moaned.

“Me neither,” Harry sighed. 

“I’m sure there’s something horrible lurking in the water,” Hermione added. “What if something happens to Professor Dumbledore and Dora? There’s no way to rescue them.”

As Dumbledore and Dora clambered out of the boat onto the island, Harry squinted. 

“I wish I could see what was going on,” he muttered. 

“Oh! Of course! I can fix that, Harry,” said Hermione eagerly. “Give me your glasses.”

Looking hopeful, Harry handed Hermione his glasses.

Hermione pointed her wand at his glasses. “Oculus Augmenta,” she murmured; then she handed them back to Harry. “Try them now!”

Excitedly, Harry put his glasses back on. 

“That’s brilliant Hermione!” exclaimed Harry, grinning as his vision zoomed in on the island. “This is almost as good as having Omnioculars. Where did you learn that spell?”

“Erm...” Hermione hesitated, the expression on her face slightly embarrassed, as if she didn’t want to toot her own horn. “I... er... just invented it this minute,” she squeaked. 

Harry’s jaw dropped in amazement. “Are you joking?”

“No! I just applied a bit of Charms theory, focused my Intent, and used a bit of sort of Latin for the incantation. I really wasn’t sure if it would work.”

“Wow!” Harry was flabbergasted. “You’re a bloody _**genius**_ Hermione!” 

Hermione turned pink and bit her lip. “Thank you Harry!”

“Anyway,” she said, trying to divert Harry’s attention back to the task at hand, “now that you can see, what’s going on?”

“Er... They’re standing next to some sort of podium with a basin on top,” Harry replied. “They seem to be arguing about something - I think Dumbledore’s winning this time - Dora looks kind of put out. Now she’s dipping some sort of cup- a crystal goblet - into the basin and giving it to Dumbledore, and she really doesn’t look happy about it.

“Blimey! Dumbledore’s drinking whatever it is... Dora’s filling the cup up again...” Harry paused for a moment as he watched Dumbledore drink the second goblet of unidentifiable liquid. What the...?” Harry muttered, frowning when Dora filled the cup again. “How much of that stuff is there?”

“NO!” Harry gasped; his heart thudded against the wall of his chest in panic when Dumbledore fell to his knees. “He’s ill - something’s wrong with him - but Dora’s still making him drink that stuff...”

A scream echoed across the cavern after the fifth goblet-full. 

“Oh no!” Hermione squealed, gripping Harry’s arm tightly. “Why won’t she stop?”

“I think Dumbledore told her she had to make him drink it. There must be something at the bottom of the basin - it must be the only way to get to it. Blimey! Dumbledore looks awful - he’s crying.” 

Harry couldn’t bear to keep looking, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away either. Hermione bit her lip, her features anguished as her eyes filled with tears when another scream carried across the still, black surface of the lake. 

“I... I think it’s over!” Harry gasped, “Oh fuck! He’s collapsed... Dumbledore’s down. Dora’s waving her wand over him...” 

“Oh no! ... Oh no!” Hermione cried. “Is... is he dead?”

“Wait... wait.. He’s moving... I think he’s asking for water... Oh crap! Dora’s trying to cast an Aguamenti Charm, but it’s not working! Fuck... she’s getting water from the lake!”

And that was when all hell broke loose; the surface of the lake which had been as smooth as a mirror churned, frothing and bubbling like a cauldron boiling over. Hermione let out an ear-piercing shriek - even she could see the figures emerging from the water, silhouetted against the luminous green glow coming from the island. 

There were hundreds of them, rising from the freezing depths and bursting to the surface, swimming toward the island; as they staggered to their feet, lurching, clambering over rocks, water pouring from their sodden clothes, it was more than apparent what they were.

“Inferi!” Harry shouted, wand in hand as he saw dozens of pale water-logged corpses in various states of decay already ashore staggering towards Dora and Dumbledore. 

A burst of yellow-orange flame leapt from Dora’s wand, engulfing at least twenty of the Inferi, but most of the Dead were too wet to catch alight, and those which were burning lurched even closer. A number of them slipped back into the water, apparently to escape the flames, but another swarm ignored the fire as they clambered up the craggy island from the other side. 

Dora sent another incendiary spell - a fireball - which exploded in their midst sending them flying, splashing back into the lake. But there were too many, and as the flames sputtered out, they kept coming.

Both shaking with terror, Harry and Hermione reacted, yelling, “Incendio... Incendio...” shooting their own fireballs across the lake towards the island. The island was too far from the rocky ledge at the side of the lake, and more of Living Dead floated to the surface, their attention caught by the fireballs plunging into the icy water around them. 

“LUMOS SOLEM!” Hermione screamed as the Undead Corpses swam towards her and Harry. The cavern lit up with a burst of golden light as if the ceiling full Stalactites had opened up to let the sun in. 

“Th...that should have worked,” Hermione stammered, when they kept splashing towards the shore. “They sh...should have submerged to avoid the light.”

“They must have some other sort of enchantment on them,” Harry groaned, racking his brains for another spell which might work against the Inferi while Hermione shouted, “Incendio!” again and again. At least that seemed to dissuade some of the Inferi.

“Hermione,” gasped Harry; a crazy thought had entered his head, but he was desperate to try anything at this point. “Our Patronuses!”

Hermione’s eyes, already wide with terror, turned towards Harry with obvious surprise. Patronuses were generally employed against Dementors and Lethifolds - but perhaps their light would have effects on Dark beings such as the Inferi as well.

“It’s w...worth a t...try Harry,” she said through chattering teeth. “B...but there are so m...many!”

Harry tried to ignore his fear, one arm around Hermione who was trembling like a leaf, and as one, both with their best memories - their best feelings - at the forefront of their minds, they bellowed, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Hermione was astounded when the silvery light blazed - even brighter than the golden light of the Lumos Solem - illuminating the cavern with pulses of dazzling, almost blinding brilliance. Their etheric Corporeal Patronuses charged across the lake, becoming indistinct as they were swallowed up by the radiant bursts of throbbing luminosity. 

Hideous shrieks filled the enormous underground chamber, emanating from the horde of Undead thrashing about in the water, sending a tidal surge splashing over the ledge which swirled around Harry and Hermione’s ankles. 

The young wizard and witch could just make out the flames shooting out of the eye sockets and mouths of those Inferi nearest them, as the flesh withered and blackened, turning to ash which floated on the eddies in the roiling water, skeletal remains sinking to the bottom of the lake. 

And most astonishing of all, as the pulses of Patronus light faded, the Corporeal Patronuses which had stormed the island turned around, their task completed, and padded across the surface of the lake, appearing for all the world as if they were walking on the water.

Harry and Hermione both gaped at the ethereal glowing lion and lioness before their Patronuses faded, shocked, having expected to see a stag and an otter in their stead.


	11. The Locket

Still shaking and pale, Harry and Hermione stood at the edge of the underground lake as the water sloshing around their ankles receded and the ripples on the surface of the dark water gradually stilled, the afterimage of their new Patronuses burned into their retinas. 

“What... What happened Hermione?” Harry muttered in disbelief when he finally found his voice. “Why did our Patronuses change? ... _both_ of them?”

“I... I don’t know Harry!” Hermione shook her head, too stunned to make heads or tails of the situation. As she racked her brains vainly, she caught a glimpse of two standing figures on the island, silhouetted against the green glow. “Harry...?”

“Yeah! I see them,” said Harry. “It’s Dora and Dumbledore, headed back to the boat. Dumbledore looks sort of alright now - more like he’s drunk.”

Both fidgeting impatiently, Harry and Hermione waited for the little boat to slide gradually across the glassy surface of the lake. 

Finally it was near enough for Hermione to make out Dora’s flabbergasted features and Dumbledore’s giddy grin. The headmaster didn’t look at all like he had been dying just a few short minutes ago, but Harry was right, Dumbledore didn’t look quite all there; his gaze was unfocused and distant.

“Here, gimme a hand,” Dora gasped when the boat finally reached the shore. 

Harry quickly took one of Dumbledore’s arms and helped Dora heave the headmaster onto the rocky edge of the lake. Dumbledore staggered, chuckling when he nearly slipped on a slimy patch of algae. 

“Blimey! That was somethin’ else!” said Dora, eyeing the headmaster warily. “What the hell was that then?” she asked Harry and Hermione. “I’ve never seen Patronuses do anything like that before.”

“Dunno!” Harry replied, shrugging in bewilderment. “I reckoned they might help against the Inferi a bit, but neither of us expected that! ... Anyway, what’s up with Professor Dumbledore?”

“Is he alright?” Hermione asked, looking very concerned as Dumbledore continued chortling, his eyes still glazed. “We thought he was dying...”

“I thought ‘e was too for a moment there,” said Dora, shaking her head in amazement. “Now he just looks completely pissed... Anyone’d think ‘e inhaled a bottle of firewhiskey instead o’ whatever that poison was. 

“I think your Patronuses had something to do with it. ... They both charged him down while the Inferi were lighting up like fireworks. The next thing I knew, he was on his feet laughing his arse off! ...”

“Our Patronuses charged Professor Dumbledore? Why would they do that?” Harry glanced at Hermione whose brows were knitted in consternation, but she still had no answers.

“Yeah, it’s bloody weird alright!” said Dora. “Anyway lets get the hell out of here... I’m sick of this place! We’ll sort him out when we get somewhere a bit safer.”

Even with the three of them, it was still a bit of a struggle to haul Dumbledore out of the cavern and back the way they had come, but they managed it with a bit of magical assistance. Finally, they were back at the top of the cliff, dripping wet, and collapsed on the grassy green bluff, grateful for the cloudless sky. It was hard to maintain a sense of horror at their nightmarish encounter with reanimated corpses under the bright light of day. 

After a short while, Dumbledore’s eyes cleared and he rubbed his forehead, seeming to return to his senses. 

“That was quite eventful indeed!” he remarked wryly. “I can only say that I am exceedingly grateful for your company. I doubt I would have survived this encounter had I continued to believe it was best to proceed with hunting down Riddle’s horcruxes alone. I suspect I could have contended with the Inferi had I been of clear mind, but the potion rendered any such actions on my part impossible...”

“What did it do to you?” Hermione asked. “We heard you screaming - we all thought you were dying.”

“Alas, at the time, I can only say that I wished I was in fact dying. As it so happened, the pain was all of my own making. My agony, my sorrow, my guilt regarding the death of my sister - it all became too much under the influence of the potion - unbearably so. The potion was clearly designed to amplify one’s deepest regrets and fears. ... Death seemed a welcome prospect!

“But then something extraordinary happened, and I am at a loss to explain it! All I recall in my torment as the Inferi began closing ranks around us, is a blinding light - a luminescence so bright that it penetrated me to the core. 

“I briefly lost awareness of my surroundings and for a moment all was chaos - as if a battle were being waged inside me. With nowhere to hide from the invading light, Shadows fled from my soul and the pain melted away, supplanted not by numbness, but by an indescribably sublime joy beyond anything I have ever felt...”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip as a strange idea occurred to her. Dora and Harry both shared a look with her, and she knew they were having the same thought. As she looked Dumbledore over, something else struck Hermione as different about him, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“Even when the light subsided,” Dumbledore continued, “I was still swept away by the current of ecstasy coursing through my veins - which has only just now subsided enough for me to have a coherent thought. ... Indeed, now that my faculties are restored, I must ask, how did we manage to escape the Inferi? A Firestorm spell perhaps? I vaguely recollect flames...”

“I did cast a Firestorm,” said Dora. “But it wasn’t enough. There were too many of the buggers comin’ at us from all sides. It was Harry and Hermione’s Patronuses which saved the lot of us in the end... saved you from that potion too, by the sound of it.”

“Patronuses?” Dumbledore’s forehead creased with perplex as he stroked his beard and nodded slowly. “Hmm... Yes! Yes, of course! It is not at all a common practice due to the difficulty of the charm for most people and the rarity of Inferi, but a Patronus _would_ be a fairly effective shield against Inferi...”

“More than a shield!” Dora insisted. “The Inferi all sorta internally combusted. The Patronuses destroyed them all... and there were hundreds of ‘em. It was unbelievable!” 

“You don’t say!” Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Remarkable! ... Quite remarkable! I knew Harry’s Patronus was uncommonly powerful - he singlehandedly drove away over a hundred Dementors in his third year - but this is simply unheard of! And you believe the Patronuses affected me also?”

“Yeah! They must’ve!” Dora replied. “They both ploughed right into you when they were mowin’ down the Inferi. That’s gotta be why you were so giddy after...”

“Your arm,” Hermione gasped, her eyes boggling as she suddenly realised what it was about Dumbledore which looked different, “Professor Dumbledore, look at your hand! It’s normal again!”

Harry’s eyes swiveled from the headmaster’s face to the end of his arm. Harry’s jaw dropped. The hand and forearm which had previously been shriveled and blackened was now plump and pink, as healthy in appearance as it ever had been. 

“Merlin!” swore Dora.

No one was more astounded than Dumbledore himself. Dumbledore’s breath quickened and his pulse began to race as he held up his hand and peered at it incredulously. Could it be possible? Did this mean that his death was no longer imminent? Had Voldemort’s supposedly unbreakable curse been broken by Harry’s immensely powerful Patronus? 

Dumbledore reminded himself that Hermione Granger’s Patronus had also been involved. He glanced at his two students, a frank expression of awe on his face, pondering the significance. The four of them peered at Dumbledore’s hand and each other for a few moments, all looking equally bewildered.

“Well,” said the headmaster, finally finding his voice, “this is all quite mysterious indeed - most unusual effects from some of the most potent Patroni I have ever encountered besides my own...”

Hermione recalled how Dumbledore had sent at least a hundred Dementors packing after Harry had fallen from his broom during the quidditch match in third year, and thought back to the night that Harry had saved her and Sirius and himself from a hundred Dementors as well - the night she had flown with him on Buckbeak. 

“It _wasn’t_ the Time Turner...” she said, turning to Harry.

“What?” 

“That night, Harry, at the end of third year when you drove away all those Dementors, you said you knew you ‘could do it that time because you’d already done it,’ implying that it was because we’d gone back in time and you had realised that you had been the one to cast it the first time. ... But that never made any sense to me as an explanation for _**why**_ it was so strong. Your Patronus is just as powerful as Dumbledore’s, Harry...”

“Oh, no Miss Granger,” Dumbledore interrupted, shaking his head, “Harry’s Patronus is vastly more powerful than my own by all indications. Though you are quite correct in one regard, the Time Turner had very little to do with Harry’s Patronus, other than to indicate to Harry that he _already_ \- at such a tender age, and despite his unfortunate circumstances - had the power within himself to conjure one of such incredible strength.”

Harry reddened slightly. 

“I suppose,” he muttered. “I never really knew how I managed it, I just knew in that moment that I could. I... er... I was thinking about it again recently, and I reckon it had something t’do with you, Hermione...”

 _“Me?”_ Hermione squeaked. “But I didn’t even do anything - I wasn’t even with you - not really. I stayed inside Hagrid’s cabin until I heard you shout the incantation and saw the light...” 

“No, you _**were**_ with me,” said Harry with a look so earnest and meaningful that it made Hermione blush, “I couldn’t’ve done it without you! ... I just didn’t really understand it then. And _your_ Patronus is powerful too, Hermione - It _has_ to be! I don’t think it was just mine which killed all those Inferi. And... and look how our Patronuses both changed today - that _**has**_ to mean something too! ...”

“Blimey!” Dora gasped. “That’s right - yours used t’be a Stag didn’ it? I remember ‘earin’ about it after the trial...” 

“And yours altered as well?” Peering at Hermione thoughtfully, Dumbledore stroked his long silvery beard.

“Yes!” Hermione nodded. “It used to be an Otter. Now it’s a Lioness - I think - and Harry’s is a Lion.”

“Intriguing! Most intriguing indeed!” Dumbledore murmured. “I believe this fact offers us some clues as to their potency, and their unusual effects. It is not unheard of for a Patronus to change after an exceedingly emotional event - particularly in the case of falling deeply in love - but it is an exceedingly rare occurrence for the Patroni of _**both**_ partners to transmogrify. I can only surmise that it is a sign of your eminent suitability for one another...”

Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously as Dora grinned at the embarrassed pair.

“Just like I told Mad Eye!” she said. 

“In any case,” Dumbledore carried on, his eyes twinkling, “evidently you both share an affinity with commanding felines of great courage and noble spirit. As to the transmogrification of the effects of the spell itself, if I may be so impertinent as to ask, were you in physical contact - or at least in very near proximity with one another - when you conjured your Patroni?”

Harry and Hermione both nodded, still red-faced.

“Ah, I thought as much,” said Dumbledore. “I daresay then, that there is a connection of sorts which allowed the magic to circulate between you two, building in frequency and intensity with each cycle...”

“Sort of like a feedback loop!” Hermione interrupted with a gasp. Harry felt a bit lost. But he kept quiet, knowing that Hermione would get around to explaining it to him.

“Yes Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, looking very impressed, “very much like a feedback loop...”

“But how...? I mean... what’s the connection between Harry and me that caused it?”

“Ah, well...” Dumbledore responded. “The reason - if I am correct - would be much the same as the reason that wands tend to work to their greatest effect when they are matched with the right individual. The frequencies of your spirits - your magical energy fields - are matching in much the same fashion...”

Dora, who was chewing on a fingernail and trying just as hard as Harry to follow the discussion, pulled her finger out of her mouth and finally interjected her own thought, trying to make sense of things.

“D’you mean like a Soul Bond?” asked Dora.

“Oh, _heavens_ no!” chuckled the headmaster. “Nothing _**nearly**_ so trite and literal... It has more to do with the frequencies at which each partner resonates. When two people grow close to one another, their energy fields mingle, and when their frequency signatures match - or very nearly match - their oscillations tend to resonate with each other, or _harmonise_ if you will.

“In a world as populous as ours - nearly seven billion strong - there may be any number of potential partners with matching frequencies available for each and every one of us. Nevertheless that very populousness also makes the odds of their ever meeting one another highly unlikely. ... It is very rare indeed for most people to find such a partner with whom they match so completely, which is what leads many to posit the literalisation of mythopoetic concepts such as ‘Soul Bonds’ and ‘Soul Mates.’ The only ‘bond’ which exists is the quite _metaphorical_ ‘bond’ of affection....

“In any case, to sum things up succinctly, the feedback created by the cycling of the resonant frequencies between Harry and Miss Granger would amplify the potency of their spells when casting them in concert together as a single unit - particularly the potency of those spells which are a reflection of the emotion powering it... such as the Patronus, which is the very embodiment of Joy and love.

“And as to the unusual effects - the spell transmogrification - for the most plausible reason we must look to the work of Nikola Tesla...”

“Tesla was a _wizard?”_ Hermione gasped.

“Oh, most certainly,” said Dumbledore. 

“Who’s Nikola Tesla?” asked Harry.

“An inventor,” Hermione replied, her eyes still boggling. “He was a muggle engineer at the turn of the century - or I _thought_ he was a muggle, anyway. He’s a bit famous, but not as famous as others like Edison or Marconi, which is rather unfair really.”

Harry still looked baffled. Edison sounded familiar, but he had no idea who Marconi was.

“Quite so, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding. “Tesla was highly skilled in both Alchemy and Muggle Engineering - not unlike Arthur Weasley. Though poor Nikola, he was snubbed in both worlds for his advanced ideas regarding the hierarchy of resonant frequencies and the amplification and transmission of electricity and magic - and he was frowned upon greatly by the ICW for skirting the International Statute of Secrecy, though he never quite stepped over the line.

“In Tesla’s view, and in mine, resonant frequencies cycling at ever higher and higher levels could produce powerful and unpredictable effects hitherto undiscovered by those working with lower orders of energy.

“I greatly suspect that it is due to the very rare confluence of factors: the complete compatibility between the energy fields of Harry and yourself, the intensity and the purity - the high quality - of your affections for one another, and that you both together cast your spells simultaneously, as _One._ That is why you were able to generate Patronuses of such high frequencies and magnitude that they displayed hitherto unknown effects... apparently causing the destruction of the Inferi... and by all appearances healing a Curse which would have eventually taken my life.” 

“Wait, you mean you were _dying?”_ said Harry, looking shocked.

“Indeed I was,” Dumbledore sighed. “As I began to tell you both recently, I was foolishly tempted to use Tom Riddle’s Ring - or rather, the gemstone it contained - to return my sister from beyond the veil for a short time. In my recklessness, I neglected to account for the likelihood that he had cursed it. 

“Professor Snape was able to slow the spread of the curse, but eventually, it would have killed me. I had perhaps a year left at best, but now... now it would seem that the Curse is broken, and I have you both to thank for giving me back my life - for giving me a new future, uncertain though it may be. I cannot thank you enough Harry, Miss Granger - I am truly indebted to the both of you!”

Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes sparkled in the sun as he beamed gratefully at his students. There was awkward silence for a moment, as neither Harry nor Hermione knew quite how to respond, not feeling entirely comfortable accepting gratitude for something they had done without knowledge. Dumbledore seemed to understand and left well enough alone, turning his attention to Dora.

“Ah, Tonks, I do believe we have a prize to examine.”

“Hunh?” Dora was momentarily puzzled, still stunned by the revelation that Dumbledore had been dying. She snapped out of her stupor, suddenly comprehending, and reached into the pocket of her jeans, retrieving a golden locket. “Oh, er, yeah... of course! Here...”

The golden locket gleamed in the sunlight as Dumbledore took it from Dora’s hand. His brow furrowed pensively and he passed it to Harry. 

“Definitely not a Horcrux,” Harry muttered. “It doesn’t look like Slytherin’s locket either - not big enough - no S on it...” Harry’s fingers fiddled with the clasp, then he halted and glanced at Dumbledore questioningly, wondering if he was out of turn.

“By all means, Harry, continue,” said Dumbledore kindly. 

Opening the locket, Harry discovered only a folded piece of parchment within. A slight shiver ran up his spine which had nothing to do with the cold wind sweeping the grassy knoll at the top of the cliff. Hermione peered over Harry’s shoulder and read aloud the words scrawled on the parchment.

“ _‘To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.’_ ... Signed, _‘R.A.B.’_ ...” Hermione frowned. “Who’s R.A.B.?”

“A very good question, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied. “Offhand, I cannot recall any one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters with such initials - though as not all were caught, even I do not know the entire extent of Voldemort’s organisation during the last war, and my memory is not what it once was.”

“I wonder how he found out about the Horcrux,” said Harry, “and if he really destroyed it?” 

“Or _she_...” Hermione said pointedly, raising her eyebrows. Harry smiled, unable to help thinking of their ongoing argument as to the gender of the “Prince.” 

“Bollocks!” Dora groaned. “How the hell are we supposed to find the real thing now? I mean, we still gotta try, right? ... to make sure it really was killed?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed we do, Tonks. Our task is very much cut out for us... However, we would be wise not to allow disappointment to cloud our faculties,” he added, catching the expressions on Harry’s and Hermione’s faces. 

“In the meantime, we shall simply continue the hunt whilst preparing to meet the forces of Darkness in battle. Harry, you and Miss Granger have both succeeded in unlocking a powerful force of the sort that Voldemort can never hope to comprehend. 

“For the moment, continue to focus your efforts on your education and training, and take the opportunity to explore the extent of your newfound abilities... and to plumb the means by which they are powered,” Dumbledore added with a canny wink that made Harry and Hermione both turn scarlet.

**~o0o~**

The return to Hogwarts was uneventful, and nobody seemed to have missed them. The grounds were peaceful; not as many students taking advantage of the sunshine as one might have thought, due to the biting winds common at this time of year with Spring just around the corner. 

Hermione seemed lost in thought as they strolled up the path to the castle - Dumbledore had stopped off at Hagrid’s hut - and Harry too found himself deep in rumination, unable to get his mind off the initials, R.A.B., despite Dumbledore’s insistence that they try to move on. There was something about them that nagged at the back of his mind. 

But Harry’s contemplative mood was broken by sniggers and guffaws. He looked over at the figures lurking by a balustrade near the entrance of the castle and scowled; apparently Nott had taken over Malfoy’s position as Crabbe and Goyle’s overlord and the gormless pair of gorillas were laughing sycophantically at something Nott had just said. 

And Nott seemed to be on a roll. “Oi, Potter, how does a used Mudblood feel after McLaggen’s broken it in? Still tight enough for you? ... or is the slapper so loose you fall in every time you go down on it?” 

Hermione’s features burned, twisting with revulsion and humiliation.

“Piss off, Nott!” Harry snarled, his arm slipping protectively around Hermione. Then he peered at Crabbe and Goyle who were now roaring and holding their sides. “You tossers are all so gruesome you probably can’t even get your mitts to put out for you.” 

Nott sneered; Crabbe and Goyle stopped laughing and scratched their heads as they tried to work out Harry’s insult. Harry took advantage of their momentary silence to edge past them and through the massive front doors into the castle with Hermione. 

“You alright?” Harry asked worriedly, once they were out of earshot. 

Hermione nodded, then they both turned around, hearing a loud bang echo across the Entrance Hall. Just outside the open front doors of the castle, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were sprawled in a heap atop one another and groaning as Dora loomed over them, her wand still in her hand.

“Sorry ‘bout that lads,” she said. “I mistook you lot for a load of Ghouls. Can’t be too careful these days...” Dora glanced across the foyer and winked at Harry and Hermione. 

**~o0o~**

As it turned out, Harry was too busy to put much time into thinking about R.A.B., between his schoolwork, his training, and Quidditch practice - the match against Hufflepuff was in less than a week. 

He had asked Dumbledore on Wednesday, but the headmaster still had no answers, as apparently there were a surprising number of wizards and witches to whom the initials could have applied, presuming that the initials were in fact legit, and not made up to throw Voldemort off the real scent... which was a distinct possibility Dumbledore had suggested to Harry.

Hermione too, spent as much time as she could researching possible leads in between her schoolwork, with just as little luck as Dumbledore. 

Harry resigned himself to things and focused his attentions the last few days on making sure that everyone on the Gryffindor team was in top form. Indeed, everybody was performing so well, that Harry’s only concern was Zacharias Smith, whose animus and hostility seemed matched only by that of Nott and Crabbe and Goyle.

Saturday morning finally arrived with partly cloudy skies and a minimal breeze. Feeling a slight sense of trepidation, Harry entered the pitch to a chorus of cheers and boos. Ron swaggered behind him, grinning and waving at Lavender who was sitting in the stands with Hermione and Parvati. 

Seamus was sitting in the stands by himself nearby, looking disgruntled as Dean was taking the opportunity to chat up Susan Bones. Harry took the last few minutes before the match began to issue a few last minute instructions.

“...and make sure you fly out of the sun at every opportunity,” Harry concluded, speaking to Coote and Peakes, the team’s Beaters. He glanced at Ginny who was waving and beaming at the podium. But Harry didn’t catch who she was gesturing at as Madam Hooch blew the whistle at that very moment and the game was on. 

Harry zoomed up above the stands, keeping his eyes peeled for the Snitch. Ten minutes in and the game was proceeding relatively smoothly with Ron blocking every potential Hufflepuff goal, and Ginny and Demelza scoring two apiece. Harry was so wrapped up in the match that it took him a while for the dreamy voice resounding throughout the quidditch pitch to register with him...

“...Smith of Hufflepuff has the quaffle now. He’s not very nice. He was quite rude about Ginny when he was commenting last time, and he’s been really mean about Hermione too... I don’t think he likes Gryffindors very much. Maybe he should have been sorted into Slytherin...”

“Blimey!” Harry muttered to himself, peering at the podium with bemusement. “Luna’s commenting? Is this some sort of joke?” 

By the pained expression on McGonagall’s face, it was apparent that she was having similar thoughts. 

“...Oh, goody!” Luna squealed happily, “Ginny’s got the quaffle from Smith now. I really like Ginny - she’s my best friend - she’s really sweet. We went to Hogsmeade together...”

Harry gawked at Luna, pondering her meaningful tone. He glanced at Ginny who was blushing furiously as she dove out of the way of a hurtling bludger. The bludger caught the tail of Ginny’s broom and she spun - momentarily out of control - losing the quaffle in the process.

“...Oh no!” Luna moaned, “Now that big Hufflepuff has the quaffle - I can’t quite remember his name - Bilbo something perhaps? Baggins maybe? ...”

 **“It’s Cadwallader!”** McGonagall shouted in despair.

Harry chortled and refocused his attention to looking for the snitch, trying not to be distracted by Luna’s commentary. Somehow Nargles and Blibbering Humdingers came up - something to do with the shape of the clouds - but Harry managed to ignore all of that. It was hard not to laugh though when he heard Luna suggest that Smith might have an affliction called “Loser’s Lurgy.”

Then he saw it - a flash of gold hovering not more than twenty metres away - and soared up into the sky after it...

“...It looks like Smith is arguing with one of the Beaters on his team,” Harry barely heard Luna saying, “Smith’s taken the bat and is going after the bludger himself - I’m not sure if that’s allowed...” 

Harry heard no more as seconds after Luna’s pronouncement all he could hear were shrieks... Hermione screaming his name... all he could see were the stars before his eyes... Agonising pain ripped through his head and for a moment Harry wondered if Voldemort had invaded the school... Then everything went black.

**~o0o~**

Harry passed by the familiar Black Family tapestry again with an armful of old robes. The Weasleys bustled about with various items as Sirius nodded and told them to bung it all in the sack too.

A heavy gold locket that no one could open was thrown into the sack and Harry rubbed at his painfully burning scar, knowing that Voldemort was angry about something. He had an eerie sense of Deja Vu when Sirius caught Kreacher sneaking around a short while later and wrestled away a ring bearing the Black Family crest from the ancient, wizened house-elf.

“It was my father’s,” said Sirius, tossing the ring back in the sack as Kreacher left the room sobbing. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was in tears herself, and found himself wondering why Sirius couldn’t have just let Kreacher hang on to a few mementos. Then Harry found himself wondering why Sirius was still alive.

Harry felt a sudden rush of wind and saw a flash of gold again - he was chasing a snitch, feeling a girl’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He caught a whiff of spearmint toothpaste and realised that Hermione was on his broom with him as he soared above the stadium at the Quidditch World Cup. 

Wait! No... the gold was Hermione’s tawny curls catching the morning sun streaming through a window criss-crossed with webs of frost... or was it the soft golden glow of the lamp above the bed. 

He was in bed - in a bed in the hospital wing once again. He was sure of it now that he could feel the pillow under his head, and the feel of crisp linen against his skin. Harry groaned, his eyelids slowly opening, his head throbbing. He tried to sit up, but his head felt heavy.

“Don’t get up Harry.” Hermione’s tear-streaked features came into view and he could see her puffy red eyes as she squeezed his hand. “You took a nasty blow to the head.”

“Shite!” Harry swore, noting the pink clouds against the purple sky outside the hospital wing’s windows. “The match - what the hell happened?”

“You fell nearly thirty metres,” said Hermione. “And you fell because Zacharias Smith aimed a bludger at your head...”

“What? But he’s a Chaser, why would he...?”

“Because he was angry and wanted to make sure you wouldn’t catch the snitch! He grabbed one of the Hufflepuff Beaters’ bats...”

“Bloody hell!” Harry fumed. “So I suppose Dean filled in? Did we lose?”

“No!” Hermione shook her bushy head. “The rest of the match was canceled and Smith was suspended from the Hufflepuff team - apparently it’s a violation of the rules to switch positions during a play.” 

“Though if you ask me, he should have been suspended for trying to hurt you,” Hermione added furiously. “But...”

“...but that’s what bludgers are for anyway,” Harry sighed. “I suppose Peakes and Coote weren’t anywhere near enough to protect me...”

“Right!” said Hermione, nodding curtly, her nostrils flaring with anger. Harry had a strong feeling from the dangerous flash in Hermione’s eyes that Peakes and Coote had got almost as much of an earful from Hermione after the match as Smith had.

“Anyway,” Hermione continued, her features softening with worry, “you had a cracked skull and a concussion, but Madam Pomfrey healed it right away. You’ll still have to stay overnight, but I’m not leaving you...”

“I expect Pomfrey might have something to say about that,” said Harry wryly.

“She already tried, but Dumbledore and McGonagall both said I could stay.” Hermione looked rather satisfied and Harry grinned.

“Brilliant!” he said. “So I suppose it could’ve been worse! My broom didn’t blow into the Whomping Willow this time, did it?”

Hermione shook her head and half-smiled. “No! It’s safe... Ron put it away for you.”

“Good! That’s good...” Harry caught the look in Hermione’s eye and knew that she wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure if he was up to it. “Come on then,” he said, patting the bed, “There’s plenty of room and I could use a cuddle.”

Hermione beamed gratefully at Harry and settled on top of the linen bedsheet beside him, her bushy head on his shoulder and an arm around his waist, and let out a contented sigh to have Harry back in the land of the living. Harry reached up a hand to stroke her messy hair and kissed her forehead, feeling much better.

They lay like that for a while in silence and bits of Harry’s dreams resurfaced, replaying in his mind’s eye. Suddenly he gasped, his eyes widening.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Hermione, I think I know who R.A.B. is...”


	12. The Iron Lady

“R.A.B. is Regulus Black...” Harry told Hermione excitedly. “Regulus _Arcturus_ Black. I remember Sirius showing me on the family tapestry. He told me Regulus had joined the Death Eaters and that he had been killed on Voldemort’s orders when he tried to get out...”

Hermione gave Harry a skeptical look. “Are you sure Harry? I don’t think he can have been very high up, and I would have thought that one of Voldemort’s inner-circle might have stood a better chance of finding out about his horcruxes.”

“Yeah! I’m dead certain!” Harry insisted. “One of the days we were all cleaning Number Twelve my scar started hurting a bit. I thought I was just sensing Voldemort in a mood at the time, but Sirius was chucking out a gold locket... It was Slytherin’s Locket. I know it was! You remember Hokey the House Elf’s memory don’t you? ...when Hepzibah Smith showed Tom Riddle the locket?”

Hermione nodded, frowning pensively and biting her lip.

“It was the same locket Hermione! ... It had the exact same ‘S’ on it, and I think I might have been sensing that it was a horcrux too...”

“Well, usually you have to really focus and try and shut Voldemort out - turn off the connection between you two - before you can be sure it’s the horcruxes and not him...” Hermione pointed out reasonably. Harry started to huff in exasperation, but Hermione was still talking. 

“...Voldemort was far away in Albania without even a body in second year, probably not able to feel much of anything. So it makes sense that it was most likely the Diary making your scar hurt _**then**_. It would have been hard to be certain once Voldemort was back in Britain, especially as it was after he’d regained a proper body. ... But _still_... I think I remember the locket. It was the one we all looked at and tried to open, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s right...” Harry’s face lit up again. “It _**was**_ the locket... right? ...the one from Hokey’s memory?” Harry peered at Hermione imploringly, hoping that her memory - usually far better than his - would confirm his own recollection.

“Yes... I think it was, Harry,” said Hermione, nodding after a few more moments of careful consideration. “I think you’re right...”

Harry pumped his fist and grinned. 

“We should tell Dumbledore straight away then,” he began.

“...There’s just one problem,” Hermione moaned, her face falling. “Sirius threw it in a sack.”

Harry groaned, slumping back on his pillow, making his head throb again. Then he remembered something else.

“Wait...” he said, feeling a new surge of hope. “Kreacher kept nicking things out of the sack. Maybe...”

“...maybe Kreacher hid it in his cupboard in the kitchen,” Hermione gasped, her eyes widening. “Oh Harry, we might still have a chance to find it.”

“Come on, let’s go tell Dumbledore...” 

Sharp clicks on the floor of the hospital wing suggested approaching footsteps, and Harry fell silent. Hermione nearly fell off the bed, blushing furiously. Madam Pomfrey regarded her patient and his guest cannily, raising her eyebrows, and for a brief horrible moment Harry wondered if she was going to turf Hermione out of the hospital wing after all.

“Good to see you back among the living, Mr Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey crisply, the barest hint of a smile hovering at the corners of her lips. “Now, what’s this I hear about you leaving the hospital wing? I am sorry, but that is out of the question until tomorrow morning - concussions are serious business....”

“But I need to see Professor Dumbledore now,” Harry protested. “It’s urgent!”

“It really is important, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione chimed in. “We have some information Professor Dumbledore needs right away.”

“Very well then,” Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I’ll send for the headmaster myself...”

“And for Dora too... I mean Auror Tonks,” said Harry. “She should know too.”

“Alright then Mr Potter, Miss Granger. ... I’ll inform the headmaster at once. But please remain here in the meantime Mr Potter. Not one foot out of that bed.”

Harry and Hermione fidgeted impatiently while they waited. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Madam Pomfrey returned with Professor Dumbledore and Dora in tow. Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office and shut the door, leaving them all to it.

“Wotcher Harry,” said Dora, looking relieved to see him awake. “That was a rather nasty shot to the head you took.”

“Yeah! I’m feeling loads better though,” said Harry, nodding, then wincing. “...As long as I don’t do that,” he muttered. 

“Which is why Madam Pomfrey is well within her authority to keep you here overnight, Harry,” said Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eyes. “Now, I am told that you and Miss Granger have some important information to impart?”

“I know who R.A.B. is,” said Harry as he rubbed his head, which was still throbbing. “And maybe where the Locket is...”

“Harry thinks it’s Regulus Black,” Hermione interjected, picking up a vial of pain potion from the nightstand beside the hospital bed and passing it to Harry, giving him a severe look. Harry took the potion meekly and downed it, laying back against his pillow. 

“And it’s possible that the Locket is at Number Twelve,” Hermione went on, once she was satisfied that Harry was resting properly.

“Blimey!” Dora’s eyebrows shot up. “I forgot about Regulus. I never met ‘im.”

“Regulus Black! Indeed,” said Dumbledore, stroking his beard, “I was certainly considering the possibility...”

“You were?” Harry looked surprised, then frowned, having thought Dumbledore would have told him.

“Oh yes!” Dumbledore replied. “He is on my list of possibles which I have been investigating. I had not reached him yet, as my inquiries were currently focused on those higher up the food chain.” 

Dumbledore conjured a piece of parchment from thin air and passed it to Hermione, who held it up so that Harry could read it too. There were a number of names on the list, written in alphabetical order. The only surnames familiar to Harry besides Regulus’s, were those belonging to someone whom he presumed to be a relative of Millicent Bulstrode, and to someone who was surely related to Caractacus Burkes. 

 

_Roselyn Agnes Bagnold_

_Roland Archimedes Bennett_

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

_Romulus Agamemnon Blackthorn_

_Reuben Aeschylus Bloodstone_

_Rupert Archibald Bracken_

_Roger Aristocles Bulstrode_

_Regina Agatha Burkes_

 

“Roselyn Bagnold?” Hermione murmured. “Was she...”

“...related to Millicent Bagnold, the Minister prior to Fudge? Quite so, Miss Granger,” confirmed the headmaster. “In any case, please tell me more.”

Dumbledore’s eyes began to gleam as Hermione relayed everything that Harry had told her. 

“...And you believe the locket may be in this kitchen cupboard - this nest of Kreacher’s?” Dumbledore asked Harry. 

“If Kreacher nicked it from the sack, then yeah,” said Harry. “It’ll be in the boiler cupboard... Kreacher’s bed is under the boiler.”

“Maybe we should go ‘ave a look right now,” said Dora eagerly.

“Yes! I think we shall, Tonks,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding as he propelled himself up from the chair. He gave Harry a regretful look. “My apologies Harry, I have no doubt that you wish to accompany us, but Madam Pomfrey would be most upset if I were to allow you to do so.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I’ll manage.”

“Don’t worry Harry. Hang tight,” said Dora. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

Hermione gave Harry’s hand a comforting squeeze as Dumbledore and Dora departed, knowing how much Harry hated being left behind. Hermione felt much the same way. This time the wait was even more painful as the clock ticked on interminably...

**~o0o~**

Following her late-afternoon meeting with Alecto Carrow, the Senior Undersecretary bade goodnight to her secretary and made her way to the elevator. One rickety ride later, she found herself in the Atrium of the Ministry. Spying the Assistant to the Minister with the Minister himself, both heading for the public floos together, a nagging feeling niggled at the back of her mind. She coughed twice, prepping her voice to use her most dulcet tones.

“Ah, good evening Rufus, Percy,” said Dolores Umbridge sweetly. “Off to dinner are you? Where are you both headed tonight?” she asked, fairly certain she knew the answer.

“Good evening Dolores,” said the Minister, looking as dour and grim as always. “I’m off to the Dragon’s Breath, and you?”

“And I’m just headed home,” said Percy glumly. “Penelope stood me up again.”

Dolores felt a flicker of relief, but perhaps it was best to be certain that Percy didn’t decide to join Scrimgeour at the last minute.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she said to Percy sympathetically. “I’ll be dining at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. Would you care to join me, Percy? I would be ever so delighted for some company.”

“Oh... er, yeah!” Percy brightened slightly. “That’d be lovely, Dolores.”

“Splendid!” Dolores gushed, taking Percy’s arm. She nodded at the Minister. “Till Monday then, Rufus. Do be careful out there, won’t you?”

“Always!” said Scrimgeour, before stepping up to the Floo and calling out, “Cardiff, Dragon’s Breath Pub...” He entered the bright green flames flaring in the hearth and vanished.

“Well then Percy, shall we?” Dolores gestured at the Floo next to the one from which the Minister had just departed.

“By all means,” Percy replied. “After you,” he offered politely.

Dinner in the Leaky Cauldron went swimmingly. Dolores was certain she had made the right decision. Percy was potentially a valuable asset, his being a Weasley a delicious irony indeed which could be an immense advantage to her goals. Percy’s mind-set was right, having cast aside the subversive pro-muggle views of his father. With a little prodding in the right direction, and a bit of encouragement, Dolores had little doubt that Percy would fit in nicely with the coming changes.

“...That’s a lovely locket, by the way,” Percy was saying after a bite of steak and kidney pie. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing it before.”

“Pardon?” Startled out of her rumination, Dolores glanced down. She took the golden locket in hand and peered at it as it glinted in the candlelight. “Oh, yes... yes it is. It’s a family heirloom passed on to me recently when my great aunt died - Aunt Victoria - she was a Selwyn, you know...”

**~o0o~**

More than three hours had passed, and the deep plum skies of dusk had long given way to night, a diamond studded black tapestry embracing the mountains surrounding Hogwarts, but Dora and Dumbledore still hadn’t returned. Harry and Hermione had whiled away the time chatting at first, then gradually fallen into silence.

The quiet grew thick; sensing Harry’s increasing agitation, and seeing him unconsciously and repeatedly rub at his forehead despite the pain potion he had taken, Hermione couldn’t bear it any longer. She glanced around the hospital wing. Reassured that Madam Pomfrey wasn’t ready to pounce, Hermione decided it was worth the risk. She leaned over the bed, and pressed her lips to Harry’s.

Harry was startled at first when Hermione began snogging him, but soon lost himself to the kiss, grateful for the distraction, his hands caught up in her tangle of hair. Moments later, they fell apart, both slightly breathless. Hermione peered at him a bit bashfully.

“Better?” she asked, looking hopeful. 

“Loads!” said Harry, grinning.

At that moment the doors opened with a creak; Harry and Hermione both turned slightly pink, thankful that they hadn’t been caught in mid-snog. Dumbledore and Dora entered the hospital wing.

Harry opened his mouth to eagerly ask if they’d found the locket, but closed it again, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Dumbledore’s weary demeanor and Dora’s listless hair spoke volumes.

“What happened?” asked Hermione.

“It wasn’t there - just a dead mouse,” Dora moaned. “And we bloody looked everywhere - not just the Boiler cupboard, Regulus’s old room as well, the attic, and anywhere else which seemed likely. ... We turned the whole house upside down.”

“This is most unfortunate,” said Dumbledore, taking note of Harry’s disappointed features. “Though we should not give up all hope. I do not doubt that you are correct Harry, that at one time the locket was at Number Twelve. I will simply have to try and track down the items that were cleared out during the purge...”

“Wait,” said Harry, unwilling to give up on Number Twelve just yet. “Why not ask Kreacher? Maybe he hid it somewhere you didn’t think to look.” 

Dumbledore blinked several times, looking slightly embarrassed. 

“Indeed, Harry,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding. “It is quite possible that Kreacher could have hidden the locket with his magic, rendering it undetectable to a wizard. If so, it is likely that he would only reveal its hiding place to his Master. If you would, by all means summon him.”

Feeling another surge of hope, Harry raised his voice and called out, “Kreacher!”

A loud crack reverberated in the hospital wing, and out of thin air the wizened old House Elf appeared, peering around at everyone with his bulbous, bloodshot eyes. Harry swallowed, noting uncomfortably that Kreacher was still wearing the ragged, filthy loincloth he had worn the day they met.

“Master calls,” Kreacher muttered contemptuously, his bat-like ears quivering as he bowed and shot a dirty look at Hermione who was sitting on the bed, holding Harry’s hand. “What service would Master and his Mudblood require of poor Kreacher, that he could not receive from a House-Elf of the Blood-Traitor headmaster?”

“Shut-up!” Harry snapped, his revulsion momentarily overwhelming his pity, reminded that Kreacher had betrayed Sirius. “Don’t _**ever**_ call Hermione a Mudblood again... or anyone else for that matter. I never want you to say that word again - I forbid it!”

“Whatever Master says,” the House Elf croaked, giving Harry a look of deep loathing. “Kreacher is bound to obey his Blood-Traitor Master’s every whim.” 

Harry opened his mouth to order Kreacher not to use the word blood-traitor either, but instead he took a deep breath, trying his hardest to remember that Kreacher was a slave, and that Sirius hadn’t been particularly nice to him. It curdled Harry’s stomach to be reminded that he actually owned another sentient being - a person in their own right - and that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter for the foreseeable future. 

Angrily, Harry tried to forget about that and focus on the problem at hand. Hopefully, one day Voldemort would be gone, and then Harry could do Kreacher and himself both a favour and set him free to choose his own Master. 

“Right then,” said Harry curtly, “I need to ask you some questions, Kreacher, and I... I order you to answer them truthfully.”

“Yes, Master,” said Kreacher, his malevolent gaze flicking again to Hermione, who was regarding him with a deeply pitying look.

“The summer before last - when we were all cleaning up Number Twelve, we found a big gold locket with an ‘S’ on it in the upstairs parlour, and we threw it out. Did you take it back?”

Kreacher tore his glare away from Hermione and looked Harry straight in the eye.

“Yes!” he croaked boldly, as if daring Harry to punish him for stealing back the locket. He was startled when Harry pumped his fist and gleefully said, “Excellent! ...”

“That’s brilliant Kreacher!” Harry went on, “Okay, what did you do with it? Where did you hide it? We need to see it.”

For a moment Kreacher said nothing, then the House-Elf shut his eyes tightly and began to shake.

“Gone,” he whimpered.

“What? Gone?” Harry stared at Kreacher blankly, not sure he’d heard correctly. “How could it be gone?”

Kreacher’s trembling increased, and he began to totter.

“Kreacher,” said Harry again, “I need you to tell me...”

“Fletcher,” the ancient elf moaned as he grasped his flapping ears, “Mundungus Fletcher! He stole it... all of it... Fletcher stole the lot... Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the silverware, the goblets... and... and... the locket...”

Kreacher began to sob, his chest heaving, and he wailed as mournfully as any House-Elf that Harry had ever heard crying - Winky sobbing for her Master - Dobby bawling at Harry’s kindness. Harry looked on in horror as Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened painfully. 

_**“He stole Master Regulus’s locket! Kreacher failed his Master!”**_ Kreacher shrieked, tearing at his ears, “Kreacher is bad House-Elf! ... _**Bad**_ House-Elf! Kreacher failed his orders!”

Harry knew what was going to happen next, but before anyone could stop Kreacher, the aged House-Elf was slamming his head into the floor. Hermione screamed.

“STOP! Kreacher, I order you to stop!” Harry shouted as he leapt off the hospital bed, forgetting his own painful head. Harry was on top of the elf in an instant, trying to hold him still. “Do you hear me? I said stop punishing yourself.”

The wretched House-Elf continued to shudder with wracking sobs, but he appeared to finally hear Harry, and stopped trying to hit his bleeding head on the floor. 

Taking a chance to let go of Kreacher, Harry wiped his own wet cheeks and stinging eyes on his t-shirt. Harry glanced around at the faces of the others with him; tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks and Dora had a hand clapped over her mouth, her own eyes glistening wetly, and Dumbledore looked as sad as he had ever seen him. 

“Bloody Dung!” said Dora furiously, catching Harry’s eye again. “I’m sorry Harry! I’m sorry I was so nonchalant about Dung when you caught ‘im sellin’ the stuff ‘e’d nicked! I shoulda gone after ‘im, tracked that rotten bastard down...”

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “You were right Dora! I was just too upset at the time to accept that he’d escaped...”

“I’ll have some Order members begin a search for Mundungus at once - maybe Shacklebolt...” Dumbledore began.

“Wait, I’ve got a better idea,” said Harry as Kreacher continued weeping inconsolably in his arms. “Professor, do you still have the other locket... the fake one...?”

“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore affirmed, looking slightly puzzled. “I have it with me right now in fact.”

“May I have it?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Dumbledore as he caught on to the meaning in Harry’s eyes. “It really isn’t necessary after all. I only kept it as a reminder of sorts of our current mission.” Dumbledore retrieved the fake locket from one of the pockets in his gaudy robes and gave it to Harry.

The golden locket glittered in the warm light emanating from the ceiling lanterns as it dangled from the chain in Harry’s hand when he held it above Kreacher. Curious, the House-Elf’s loud sobs quieted to sniffles; he almost looked hypnotised as his protuberant eyes darted back and forth, watching it swing.

“Kreacher, this belonged to Regulus too,” said Harry. “I’d, er.... I’d really like you to have it. I’m really sorry you don’t have any mementos of your family left...”

“M...Master wants me to have Master Regulus’s locket?” Kreacher eyed Harry in bewilderment. 

“Yes, I do, Kreacher,” Harry nodded. “And I wish I had more stuff from the Black family to give you. Maybe one day, I’ll have a chance to look in the Black family vault at Gringotts, and I’ll be able to find some other pictures or something. ... But for now, I want you to have this.”

Fresh tears welled up in the House-Elf’s bloodshot eyes as he took the locket from Harry’s hand. He glanced at Harry again, still looking a bit puzzled.

“And, er... and how would you like to help us by finding Mundungus Fletcher?” Harry asked. “We really need _**that**_ locket - the locket he stole...” 

“The Dark Lord’s locket,” Kreacher hissed, his whole demeanor changing as his eyes gleamed, “Yes, Kreacher will find Mundungus Fletcher for Master Harry. Maybe Master Harry’s magic is powerful enough to destroy the locket he stole, and Kreacher will be Good Elf again...”

This time it was Harry’s turn to look surprised. “You... you know it needs to be destroyed?” he gasped.

“Oh, yes, Master Harry,” Kreacher nodded vigorously. “That was Master Regulus’s last order to Kreacher, before Master Regulus died in the Cursed Cave. He told Kreacher to leave with the locket and destroy it as... as the Dead Ones dragged him into the lake...” 

Kreacher couldn’t help letting out a miserable squeak at the painful memory, and several of the new tears dripped from his cheeks. 

“And Kreacher was Bad Elf, Kreacher failed to destroy the Locket...” he wailed.

Hermione couldn‘t help herself, crying out, “Oh, Kreacher...” and looking like she desperately wanted to hug him. 

Kreacher’s eyes flickered towards Hermione again, this time looking more confused than anything.

“The... the locket that Master Harry gives Kreacher, it is the locket Master Regulus left in the basin after Master Regulus drank the Potion,” the House-Elf continued. “Master Harry and his friends must be powerful wizards to defeat the Dead Ones and escape the Cave. Kreacher will help Master Harry. ... Kreacher will find Mundungus Fletcher and bring him back, and Master Harry will destroy the Dark Lord’s Locket...”

“I will,” said Harry resolutely, “I _**will**_ destroy the Locket, Kreacher - as soon as we find it. I promise! But when you find Mundungus, take him straight to Dumbledore, alright? It, er... it might be a bit awkward if you show up with Mundungus while I’m in the middle of class.”

“Of course, Master Harry!” Kreacher gave him a sweeping bow. 

“Good luck, Kreacher,” said Hermione as she knelt on the floor next to Harry, her hand on his shoulder, and held out her hanky for the House-Elf with her other hand. 

Kreacher peered at her again uncertainly.

“For your cut.” Hermione pointed at his still bleeding forehead. “You really should get that looked at before you go,” she added kindly.

“She’s right, you know,” said Harry. 

Kreacher hesitated, his eyes flicking back and forth several times between Harry and Hermione as if looking for something, then tentatively, he reached out and took the hanky from Hermione.

“Thank you, M...M... _Mistress_.” The aged House-Elf made a jerky little half bow as he dabbed his forehead with the hanky. “House Elfs is knowing some healing magic. Kreacher will make do.” Then Kreacher vanished with a loud crack. 

Hermione turned to Harry and gave him a befuddled look.

“Harry, he called me _Mistress!_ ... instead of Mudblood?”

“Er...” Harry shrugged, returning Hermione’s baffled expression. “I dunno. Just go with it...”

“I think he thinks you two’re married,” Dora giggled. “That’d make ‘im your House-Elf too, Hermione.”

“A very reasonable assumption, Tonks,” Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling. “The terms Master and Mistress are reserved by House-Elves for their owners and the families of their owners. Kreacher knows that Miss Granger is not Harry’s sister, or other such biological relation, yet his magic senses a relationship between them both that can only be a familial bond of some sort, which he apparently interprets as marriage.”

Harry and Hermione both turned pink at that.

“In any case,” Dumbledore continued. “Even with his magic, it may take Kreacher some time to locate Mundungus Fletcher, if Fletcher has gone to ground. I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep and go about our business until Kreacher returns with our wayward thief.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Dora. “Alright then, g’night you two. Sleep tight.”

Once Dumbledore and Dora were both gone, and the Hospital Wing was clear, Harry clambered back into bed. Hermione glanced at the cot beside Harry’s and bit her lip. Finally, she climbed onto Harry’s bed next to him, on top of the now quite rumpled linen sheet.

Harry raised his eyebrows and grinned as Hermione snuggled into the crook of his shoulder and put an arm around his middle.

“I don’t care if Pomfrey finds us like this,” said Hermione almost defiantly.

**~o0o~**

There was still no sign of Kreacher by the following morning when Madam Pomfrey released Harry from the Hospital Wing, but the atmosphere in the Great Hall when he and Hermione finally arrived for breakfast after cleaning up in their quarters seemed to crackle with perplexion. A number of owls were still flitting in and out with the morning post.

Harry and Hermione both glanced up at the staff table where the professors seemed to be deep in conversation looking worried.

“Morning Harry,” said Ron.

“Hi Harry. Hello Hermione,” said Lavender. Parvati waved, smiling but looking slightly agitated.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked as he took his seat, wondering where Neville was. 

“Not sure really,” Ron shrugged. “Something about the Minister I think. I heard Hannah Abbott say something about the Minister to Neville - they’re at the Hufflepuff table looking at the...” Ron was interrupted by a great flap of wings as Hedwig soared past him and dropped a Daily Prophet in Hermione’s lap. 

Hermione picked up the newspaper and gasped, “Oh no!”

“What?” asked Harry. 

Hermione scrunched up her face with a pained expression and held up the morning paper for all to see the headline.

**Scrimgeour Missing!  
Senior Undersecretary Ratified as Acting Minister**

by Rita Skeeter

Under the headline was a picture of Umbridge with a decidedly trying-very-hard-not-to-look-gleeful-under-the-horrible-circumstances Percy Weasley at her side. Harry’s face turned ashen as the blood drained from his cheeks. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth as she quickly scanned the article.

“This is _awful!”_ said Hermione. “It says here that an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot Committee for Appointments and Adjudications was called for early this morning after Aurors discovered evidence of foul play late last night in an alley near the Dragon’s Breath Pub after a commotion was heard, and Scrimgeour never returned home according to his maid. 

“The Committee made Umbridge Acting Minister, citing the need for ‘continuity in leadership in these troubled times,’ and she picked Percy as her Senior Undersecretary...”

Pumpkin juice sprayed from Ron’s mouth. 

“Blimey!” he said, wiping his lips with a napkin as he gave Lavender an apologetic look, “No wonder Percy looks so happy about Scrimgeour vanishing...”

“It gets worse,” Hermione moaned. “Umbridge is apparently ordering the Auror Office to look into the possibility that Dumbledore is behind the disappearance, citing a ‘long-standing feud’ between Scrimgeour and Dumbledore.”

“No way!” Harry snarled. “That’s bloody ridiculous! Nobody would ever believe Dumbledore would do something evil... especially if Umbridge says it.”

“I don’t know about that, Harry,” said Hermione, her expression distraught. “Loads of people believe what they read in the Daily Prophet, and Skeeter makes Dumbledore and Scrimgeour’s disagreements seem much worse than they really are, giving credence to Umbridge’s point of view.”

“But everyone knows that Umbridge is a liar after Harry was proved right about You-Know-Who being back, don’t they?” said Parvati. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry sighed, as it sank in that Hermione was probably correct. “Umbridge would just blame it all on Fudge - say he made her do it...”

“That’s exactly right Harry,” Hermione affirmed. “There’s even a quote here by Umbridge to that effect. ... She says, _‘Of course, we all know by now that Cornelius’s incompetence led to the disaster at the Ministry last year, and I am sorry to say that I fell victim to his myopic attitude, bound as I was as his Senior Undersecretary to carry out his foolhardy proposals._

_“... ‘Nevertheless, Cornelius was undoubtedly swayed by Dumbledore’s dubious record, given the headmaster’s penchant for long-standing blood-feuds and hiring dangerous half-breeds and criminals. Clearly, given Dumbledore’s unsavoury history, an in-depth investigation is called for._

_“‘Indeed, a proper inquiry could throw many of the views of recent history currently accepted as self-evident into question, and may even lead us to conclude that some of You-Know-Who’s grievances may not be entirely without merit - despite his reckless and unruly behaviour. After all, some of the most respected wizarding families in Britain apparently supported his goals - which is something we should all take into consideration if we are to judge the current situation fairly. There are undoubtedly some very fine people on both sides.’”_

Hermione looked as if she might be ill as she finished reading Umbridge’s quote aloud. 

Harry groaned. Things had just got a whole lot more complicated in the wizard world.

**~o0o~**

Hermione tried her best to distract Harry from his darkening mood, suggesting that they spend a few hours studying in the library before taking the rest of Sunday off. But she found that her own attention was wandering, preoccupied as she was by the implications of Umbridge’s statement to the press.

Umbridge had certainly never been shy about expressing her views of half-breeds, but her comments about “fine people on both sides” seemed to shed new light on her persecution of Harry, especially given Umbridge’s creation of the Inquisitorial Squad, made up entirely of the worst Slytherins - Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Warrington, and Graham Montague. 

Umbridge had also been the one to sic Dementors on Harry after all - in what could only be seen as an assassination attempt in retrospect - a fact which had never been made public as there was no real proof. Umbridge would have denied that she had ever admitted it, and certainly the members of the Inquisitorial Squad who had been present would have denied that Umbridge had openly confessed to ordering the Dementor attack.

But why would Umbridge have gone to such extremes, and taken such a great risk, as to order a Dementor attack on Harry? Hermione began wondering if the Dementor attacks on Harry during third year had been as “incidental” as everyone had seemed to believe at the time. 

The visitation by one of the wraiths on the Hogwarts Express hadn’t seemed to be focused on Harry necessarily - and it hadn’t been an attack per se - but of the incidents at the quidditch match, and at the end of third year, there could be no question - Harry had been deliberately targeted by the Dementors. Perhaps Umbridge had ordered those assaults as well.

While Harry was still attempting to study his Third Year Runes book, Hermione slipped into the Restricted Section with her Prefect Pass and began going through the school records. Finally Hermione found the proof she was looking for. 

“I knew it,” Hermione fumed as she made her way back to Harry. “I just _knew_ it!”

“Knew what?” asked Harry, glad for a distraction, as he had been absentmindedly staring at the same paragraph for the last half hour.

“She was a Slytherin!” said Hermione. “Umbridge was a Slytherin.”

“So? I mean - yeah, I reckoned as much, and I know loads are rotten, but they’re not _all_ as awful as the Malfoys and their pals. Look at Slughorn and Dora’s mum. ... I dunno about Zabini yet, but it’s looking like he might be alright after all too.”

“Yes, that’s very true,” Hermione agreed. “But it makes it _**much**_ more likely that she’s a Pureblood Supremacist, especially as she is apparently a close acquaintance of Draco’s father. That’s why she only picked the vilest, most racist Slytherins for the Inquisitorial Squad, and that explains why she’s obsessed with you as well.”

“It does?” 

“ _Yes_ Harry. You’re a living symbol of the defeat of the Pureblood Agenda - that’s why you’re generally so popular with muggleborns, and loads of halfbloods with muggle family members as well...”

“Wish they’d stuck up for me a bit more then,” Harry growled, thinking about how nearly every other year at Hogwarts he’d been about as popular as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Second Year I was the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ ... Fourth Year I was a ‘Cheater’ ... and last year I was a Deranged Nutter. 

“It seems like most of the school nearly always thinks I’m an attention seeking prat and that I actually _like_ the fact that I’m famous because I survived when my parents were murdered. Even Ron sort of thinks like that sometimes - at least when he’s in a jealous mood - and _he’s_ my best mate.” 

“Well, obviously a lot of people are easily swayed by stupid rumours and the rubbish they read in the Prophet, and Ron, well as you said, it’s really only when he’s feeling a bit jealous,” Hermione sighed. “But still, loads of people - not just current Hogwarts students - really _**want**_ to believe you’re the Chosen One - especially those who have good relationships with their muggle relatives. 

“ _Anyway,_ because you’re associated with the defeat of the Pureblood Agenda, forcing them back underground, that simply won’t stand for someone like Umbridge. She clearly wants to reinstate an openly Pureblood Supremacist Order - she obviously has many of the same goals as Voldemort - including doing you in eventually, Harry. 

“As long as you’re alive - as long as you have political credibility - you’re an icon for muggleborns to rally around in their struggle for greater representation in the Wizengamot and the Ministry. 

“That’s why she hates you Harry - it’s not got anything to do with breaking a few rules. Loads of students have done accidental magic or broken rules over the years - but she didn’t obsess over _them._ It’s only you that she’s after - and Dumbledore, and probably Mr Weasley as well - because you all stick up for muggles and muggleborns. You were right and Sirius was wrong, Harry - Umbridge _**is**_ more or less a Death Eater, in all but name.”

“Blimey!” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, vanishing under his unkempt fringe. “Of course! It all makes sense now! I never really understood why she hated me so much, especially after Sirius dismissed my Death Eater theory. ... Bloody Hell! I knew this was bad, Hermione, but it’s even worse than I thought. If she’s in charge now...”

“...then Voldemort has as good as taken over the Ministry, but nobody knows it,” Hermione concluded grimly.


	13. Seeing Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more explicit version of this chapter is now available in _Damaged Bridges: The Steamy Chapters._

For a moment Harry and Hermione stared at each other, still processing the unthinkable but all too likely conclusion that the Ministry had fallen, and that the new Minister - Dolores Umbridge - had made some sort of pact with Voldemort. It was almost too horrible to contemplate, and Hermione knew as well as Harry that most people would never believe it. Most people didn’t know Umbridge like she and Harry knew Umbridge. 

The look on Harry’s face was devastating. 

Fed up with herself that far from diverting Harry’s angst - that she had in fact only made his and her own moods worse - Hermione let out a furious huff. 

“Right, that’s enough of this then,” she said crossly, grabbing her books off the library table and shoving them roughly in her book bag, startling Harry. “I don’t think I can take one more minute of studying.”

“Hermione?”

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Hermione couldn’t even look Harry in the eye as she continued stuffing the books in her bag; she began gulping air, her chest heaving rapidly, eyes stinging. Her mouth was dry. She felt cold. She couldn’t breathe... Why couldn’t she breathe? 

_“Hermione!”_

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice called out again, sounding more urgent - even from a thousand miles away, she could just make it out as shadows began to swallow her vision and her knees began to shake. 

Footsteps came up behind her - she felt his hands on her shoulders - felt them rubbing her arms gently - slipping down to her middle - encircling her waist. Collapsing, Hermione fell back into Harry’s arms, gasping, trying to draw in air as the room spun. 

“It’s alright... Hermione, I’ve got you - I’ve got you... Try not to breathe...” 

Harry’s voice was in her ear, reassuring as he held her tightly against his chest. Trusting Harry with every fibre of her being, Hermione did as she was told and held what little breath she had for as long as she could then let it out.

“Again,” said Harry. 

Hermione obeyed, holding her breath again several times at Harry’s repeated instruction; slowly, surely, she began to breathe more normally. Dizziness fading, Hermione turned around in his arms and wrapped her own around him, her tears dripping onto his shoulder.

“Thank you Harry,” she murmured. “I can’t remember the last time I hyperventilated that badly... not since I was little. The closest I came was in third year when all those Dementors swarmed you and you fell off your broom. I almost did when I thought you might be d...d...dead... but Madam Hooch said you were still breathing...” 

Hermione shivered briefly and an image flickered in Harry’s mind, a scene replayed from third year. Hermione’s rain-soaked distraught features - her puffy bloodshot eyes as she stood closest to his hospital bed clutching his hand, surrounded by the mud-splattered quidditch team and Ron - her squeak of distress when Alicia had said that they’d all thought Harry had been killed - Harry could see and hear everything as if it had been yesterday. 

Harry tried to suppress his sudden stab of guilt at having stirred such feelings in Hermione. She had always taken his safety so personally - always taken it hard whenever he’d been injured or in pain - always gone out of her way to protect him even at the risk of their friendship, or her own safety...

Her safety... Another horrible thought suddenly struck Harry as he cuddled Hermione. If Voldemort really was running the Ministry now, through Umbridge, how long would it be before he started going after everyone close to Harry. 

Umbridge knew Hermione - knew she was closer to Harry than just about anyone else. Hermione had been the one to come up with the plan to lead Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest in an effort to save Harry from torture; it had been Harry and Hermione alone in the Forest with the Toad. There was no way Umbridge would forget that anytime soon.

Harry reckoned that Hermione was safe enough at Hogwarts for now, as long as Dumbledore was in charge - but what about her parents?

“Come on,” said Harry gently, giving Hermione’s bushy head a kiss as he rubbed her back. “We need to go see Dumbledore.”

Hermione lifted her head from Harry’s shoulder and peered into Harry’s green eyes, feeling slightly puzzled. 

“I don’t think there’s really anything he can do, Harry...” she began.

“...Not about the Ministry at the moment, that’s true,” Harry agreed.

“Then what...?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” said Harry, not wanting to worry Hermione too soon, “when we get to Dumbledore’s office.”

Hermione bit her lip and frowned, wondering why Harry was being so mysterious, then she nodded, reasoning that she’d know soon enough. 

“Alright then Harry,” she agreed resignedly. Harry gave Hermione a little smile and took her by the hand, leading her from the library.

Dora, who was guarding the entrance of the school library, glanced at Harry and Hermione questioningly when the door opened and they emerged.

“You two alright?” she asked, noting Hermione’s slightly puffy red eyes.

“Er, I am now,” Hermione replied, nodding. “Harry just thought we should go see Dumbledore.”

Dora took one look at Harry and suddenly understood.

“Right! _Umbridge_...” Dora sighed. “Dunno how the Order’s gonna deal with this,” she muttered, leading Harry and Hermione through the drafty stone corridors as they made their way to Dumbledore’s office.

Hermione stiffened when they turned a corner. Harry looked to see who she was scowling at and spied Nott, Crabbe and Goyle huddled by a bay window peering at a piece of parchment. For a moment Harry and Nott caught each other’s eyes, and the hairs rose on the back of Harry’s neck. Nott shoved the parchment in his pocket and gave Dora a sneering look before he turned around and stalked off with Crabbe and Goyle..

“That kid is trouble,” said Dora, frowning. “His father got chucked in Azkaban too, after St Mungo’s sorted him out. I wouldn’t put it past ‘im to be cookin’ up some sort of revenge.” 

“Oh...” Harry suddenly remembered Hermione locking a door in the Department of Mysteries after he’d slammed it shut, and hearing an odd squelching sound from the other side then Lucius Malfoy yelling at the others to leave an injured Nott behind. 

“That explains it then,” Harry continued. “He’s up to something, but I couldn’t tell what.” 

Hermione glanced at Harry anxiously. “Harry, did you just try...?”

“...a bit of Legilimency? Yeah,” Harry nodded. “But I didn’t get much. Just an idea that he wanted revenge for something, like Dora said. I wonder why he never tried to have a go at me before like Malfoy did though.”

“Maybe... maybe he knew Malfoy had some sort of plan, and was thinking it involved getting back at you,” Hermione suggested uncertainly.

Harry looked a bit disconcerted, then nodded as it seemed the most likely explanation. The three of them continued on their way until they finally reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office. After riding the spiral stairs to the top, Dora rapped the brass door knocker three times. 

Upon entry, Fawkes ruffled his feathers letting out a little trill and someone already engaged in conversation with the headmaster turned to look at the new arrivals. Moody’s eye swiveled as he glanced appraisingly at each of the trio. 

“Ah, there you are, please be seated,” said Dumbledore, gesturing towards three chintz armchairs, looking for all the world as if he had been expecting them.

“What took you three so long?” chuckled the grizzled ex-Auror. 

“Er...” said Harry, feeling a bit taken aback.

“Don’t tease ‘em, Mad Eye!” Dora snapped. “They were just trying to get on with things without gettin’ all worked up...”

“...and failing miserably,” Hermione admitted ruefully.

“Indeed,” sighed Dumbledore, rubbing at his forehead which was crinkled with worry. “The situation could plausibly be even more alarming than it may appear to the general public.” 

“Do you think this means it’s true then?” asked Harry, “...that Voldemort has secretly taken over the Ministry?”

“Alas, of that, we cannot be certain,” Dumbledore replied. “It could be that Dolores Umbridge has played her own hand to take control of the Ministry, using the threat of Voldemort as a convenient scapegoat for Scrimgeour’s disappearance, or that she has made a pact with Voldemort... Both of which are equally dire conclusions that we may draw, and neither of which are mutually exclusive to the notion that Dolores is now directly working on behalf of Voldemort.”

“She could be hopin’ to play the Death Eaters and the Order off each other, and being in a position to pick up the pieces and consolidate power after both sides have weakened each other,” growled Mad Eye. “Either way - whichever scenario proves true - Umbridge spells trouble with a capital T. ... There’s no doubt she’ll be going after Dumbledore hard, and she’s probably already tryin’ to figure out a way to go after you again, Potter.” 

“Er... That’s actually what I wanted to talk about,” said Harry, his eyes flickering nervously towards Hermione. “I, er... I was thinking about Hermione’s parents... I was hoping we could get them somewhere safe - maybe out of the country....”

“Harry!?” squeaked Hermione, her eyes wide with shock. “What...? You never said...”

“I didn’t want to worry you again too soon, Hermione...” Harry peered at her apologetically. “Even if Voldemort doesn’t really know you, Umbridge does, and she already hates you almost as much as she hates me...”

“Is this true?” Moody’s eye spun grotesquely and came to a halt on Hermione. She nodded.

“Yes, I expect so. It’s more or less my fault she got carried off by the Centaurs,” Hermione moaned. “She was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry,” she added defensively.

“Bollocks!” Mad Eye swore. “Potter’s right, Albus. We gotta move the Grangers as soon as possible...”

“I quite agree, Alastor,” said Dumbledore, looking even more disturbed. “This also brings another serious problem to mind... Returning to Little Whinging for the summer is now out of the question for Harry. Though Harry is untouchable by Voldemort or his Death Eaters at Privet Drive, his residence is accessible to the Ministry.”

Harry’s breath caught; he stared at Dumbledore, his expression now as stunned as Hermione’s. Harry had always hated going back to the Dursleys every year for at least half the summer, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about not going back under the current circumstances. As horrible as the Dursleys were, Harry wasn’t sure that he could live with himself if anything really dreadful happened to them - well, maybe he could if it was just Uncle Vernon. Harry squashed that last thought, feeling guilty just for thinking it.

“What... what about the Dursleys, then?” Harry asked when he found his voice. “They’ll have to be moved too, won’t they? The charm you placed on me based on my mum’s sacrifice protects them too, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes Harry,” Dumbledore agreed. “The day you no longer call your Aunt’s residence home, it will become an attainable target for Voldemort.” Dumbledore turned his attention back to Moody. “Very well, Alastor, our first order of business is decided for us. If you would please begin making the necessary arrangements for protecting the Grangers and the Dursleys. I believe Harry’s suggestion - moving them out of country while we have the chance - is our best option.”

“I’ll get right on it, Albus,” Moody growled, clambering to his feet. “Potter, Granger, keep your hair on. We’ll have your folks moved in the next few days. If you wanna send a message to personally give ‘em a heads up, let me know by this evening. In the meantime, step up your combat trainin’ - don’t be afraid to practice dangerous spells and curses, you’ll be needing them. And keep yer eyes peeled - constant vigilance.” 

And on that last note, Moody lurched, clomping out of the headmaster’s office. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione took his hand and smiled at him gratefully. 

“Well, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “now that we have that situation in hand, is there anything else you wished to discuss?”

Harry hesitated, then decided to just say it. “Er... I think Nott might be up to something,” he tentatively offered. “Except I really _don’t_ have anything to go on but a feeling this time,” he added with a sheepish grin.

Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, and he looked slightly abashed himself. “Well, I must say Harry, your intuitions are oft more accurate than not. But for the moment, Harry, until we have more to go on, it would behoove us all to simply follow Professor Moody’s sage advice, and maintain our vigilance.”

“But you and Hermione ‘ave already got loads on your plate,” Dora chimed in. “So take Mad Eye’s comment about training harder with a grain of salt. You could both use a bit more downtime if you ask me.” 

“Tonks has a very good point,” said Dumbledore. “Professor Moody sometimes forgets that this is not the Auror Boot Camp. I would suggest you take advantage of your spare time to make the best of things while you still can...”

**~o0o~**

Feeling much better about things after visiting Dumbledore with Harry, Hermione knew there was one thing Harry always found cheering. Well, more than one thing these days, but the other could come later.

“Dumbledore’s right, Harry,” said Hermione as they traipsed back to their quarters to drop off their books. “I was thinking the same thing when I, er, lost it earlier. Maybe... maybe we should fly around for a bit - it’s nice and sunny out today.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and smirked a bit at her. “You sure about that Hermione? We could always do a bit of light reading if you’d rather.”

“Prat!” Hermione rolled her eyes and swatted Harry’s shoulder. “I’m trying to cheer _you_ up now. Anyway, I can always ride on your broom with you, where I know I’ll be safe... as long as Smith isn’t whacking bludgers at us.” 

The remnants of a dream suddenly flickered in Harry’s frontal lobes - a rush of wind - a whiff of spearmint toothpaste - and the sensation of Hermione’s arms around his waist. Slowly he nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, grinning, “That’s a brilliant idea Hermione!”

Hermione had been right, Harry thought as he made his way down to the front lawn, his firebolt in one hand, and Hermione’s hand in his other. There was barely a cloud in the sky and almost no breeze; it was the warmest day yet, and there was a hint of honeysuckle in the air 

The sun caught the golden highlights of Hermione’s ringlets; Harry smiled at her as he climbed on his broom. Nervously, Hermione clambered up behind him and clasped her arms tightly round his middle.

“You ready Hermione?”

“Er... yes,” she squeaked.

“Then hang on tight,” said Harry, kicking off. 

There was a whoosh, and Hermione let out a little squeal as they soared up into the sky. At first she squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to Harry for dear life, her face buried between his shoulder blades, but gradually she began to relax. 

This was nothing like the terrifying flight to London on the back of an invisible Thestral, or flying on a broom on her own, afraid that she might drop out of the sky at any moment. Feeling safer snuggled against Harry’s back, knowing that he would keep her aloft, Hermione gradually opened her eyes again and leaned her chin on his shoulder. 

Hermione felt a surprising little tingle of arousal as the broom shuddered when Harry banked hard, circling one of the turrets of the castle and heading towards the lake; she hadn’t expected that. 

Harry swooped down low over the treetops and then buzzed the shimmering surface of the lake. As her bushy hair billowed behind her, the fine spray of mist stung Hermione’s face and the tingle of elation surged, flooding her senses. Unable to help herself, she let out a little moan. 

Mistaking Hermione’s trembling and squeaks for terror, Harry hastily set the broom down in the midst of a copse of huge, gnarled oaks at the edge of the lake in the woods on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. 

“Hermione, are you al...?” Harry’s concerned query was cut off, and he was surprised to suddenly find himself flat on his back in the underbrush, Hermione’s lips crushed against his as she straddled his waist. 

Several squirrels nearby - as startled as Harry himself - scampered up one of the trees into the branches and chittered crossly at the interlopers below.

“Hermione, what the...?” he gasped when their lips briefly separated, starting to sit up. Harry was cut off once more when Hermione pushed him back down and snogged him madly again.

Harry grinned, half-dazed when their lips parted a second time, still not quite comprehending what was going on until he realised that Hermione had tugged off her jeans and was reaching for his belt. His eyes nearly fell out of his head.

“Er... Hermione...?” His voice was several pitches higher than normal. “You... you’re not planning on doing what I think, are you?”

“Why not?” She briefly halted and peered at him imploringly, her eyes full of longing. “I love you and I want to be with you! I’m ready Harry! ... I am! _Really!_ ... But... but only if you’re ready too, of course!”

Harry swallowed nervously. “I love you too, Hermione. B...b...but, we’re outside...” he stammered. 

“So?” Hermione bit her lip, turning pink and fluttering her eyelashes, feeling slightly embarrassed. “... That just makes it even nicer! Anyway, you picked the perfect spot - no-one hardly ever comes to the forest except us, and nobody can see us here unless they come in from the lake - there’s trees and bushes all around us. We’re completely enclosed.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wondered if recent events somehow had something to do with Hermione’s sudden impulsive behaviour. The last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her in a vulnerable situation.

“Er... Are you sure about this Hermione?”

Hermione nodded vigorously. 

“Yes Harry!” she said, continuing to give him a hopeful look. 

Hermione thought about saying a bit more, but thought better of it, not wanting to spoil the mood. She wasn’t quite sure that there was any good way to say that this was the loveliest circumstance she could imagine in which to have a _proper_ “first-time” with someone she truly loved - the way she had always dreamed it would be. 

Hermione’s yearning expression was more than Harry could bear. He felt himself melting in her big brown eyes, which shone golden as they sparkled in the beams of sun piercing the leafy canopy above, and knew that he’d never be able to refuse Hermione a thing ever again when she looked at him that way.

“Okay then,” said Harry, grinning soppily, “But what about... you know, protection? I haven’t learned the charm...”

“I’ve been taking a potion since we started messing around a bit,” Hermione admitted, blushing as she began eagerly undoing Harry’s belt, “just in case I felt ready while we were, er... going at it. Now shut up and help me get your jeans off,” she giggled.

Harry didn’t need any more encouragement. Moments later Hermione was down to bra and knickers and Harry, his tenting boxers, the rest of their clothes having been shed and transfigured (by Hermione of course) into blankets. 

Heart racing, her breath quickening, Hermione unclasped her bra letting it fall where it may, and peeled off her knickers while Harry nervously slipped out of his boxers. Harry looked so anxious, Hermione was sure he was worried about about triggering a nasty reaction and knew she would have to take the lead. 

Hermione straddled Harry’s middle again, and he flinched ever so slightly. She leaned over, taking his hands and placing them where she wanted them when she kissed Harry steamily again.

Electrifying tingles coursed through Hermione with Harry’s every touch, and when his tentative caresses grew firmer and more confident, and his hands roamed further, Hermione knew that Harry was well and truly relaxed - as relaxed as anyone could be in the heat of passion in any case.

The fervor grew, an inferno blazing through them both. Hermione rolled onto her back, pulling Harry atop her, in the process sliding off the blanket. But Hermione didn’t care, the moss and fallen leaves digging into her backside only intensifying the experience, squealing and shuddering as gusts of ecstasy swept through her one after the other.

Harry’s breathing grew ragged, the delicious friction more intoxicating than he had imagined - even more-so when iridescent green eyes met gleaming gold.

Hermione didn’t think that things could get any more intense, but when her eyes connected with Harry’s green gaze, the crescendo reached new heights and she lost herself as they merged as one. 

Harry felt as if he were soaring through a starry night with Hermione when the whirlwind of bliss caught him in its grasp and swept him along for the ride. He stiffened and groaned.

Hermione clutched Harry tightly, adrift in a sea of multicoloured stars, feeling his beads of sweat against her skin. The very ground seemed to shake beneath her, and the stars seemed to burst like fireworks...

There was a cracking sound, a loud “Eeeep!” - another squeal, and then two thumps and two loud “OW!”s. 

Harry and Hermione were both brought back to earth so quickly, that it took them a moment to realise what was happening. Harry was the first. Blushing furiously, he snatched the blanket from the ground next to them and whipped it over himself and Hermione.

“Blimey!” he groaned. “Ginny, Luna... what the hell?”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” moaned Ginny, clapping a hand over her eyes. 

Ginny was sprawled on the ground where she and Luna had both apparently fallen after tumbling from the top of one of the massive oak roots which enclosed the tiny glade by the lakeshore. Luna stared, rubbing a bruise on her forehead, her big silvery grey eyes even larger than usual.

Hermione wanted to ask Luna and Ginny if they were alright, but “Wh...what are you two doing here?” emerged from her mouth instead.

“This is _our_ spot,” said Luna suddenly grinning. “It’s where Ginny and I usually come to snog and have sex... Ow!” she added at the end when Ginny swatted her shoulder and moaned, “Lunaaa... shut up!”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Why?” Luna asked Ginny. “It doesn’t matter if Harry and Hermione know about us. They’re our friends. Besides we just saw _them_ having sex... it’s only fair that they should know we have sex too.”

“We didn’t _really_ see anything...” said Ginny, who still had her hand over her eyes. 

“Yes we did,” said Luna. “Well, just a bit anyway, when we fell. Mostly we just saw all the light until we hit the ground.” 

“Er... Are you alright then?” Hermione finally managed to ask, her brow creased with concern. “What happened?”

“You two - I think,” said Ginny. “We had just climbed up onto the root from the other side - then there was some sort of little earthquake... and some sort of rainbow coloured lightning, almost like fireworks. We lost our footing and fell...”

“...and that’s when we saw you just finishing,” Luna added. “The lightning - it was sort of bursting from the two of you. I think it must have been accidental magic... But I think it must be quite rare for that to happen when wizards have sex, or you’d hear about it more often.”

“Though I swear there were a few sparks last time with us, Luna,” Ginny suddenly smirked, apparently getting over her own initial embarrassment as she peeked out from between her fingers.

“Hmm... I still think it might have been Fairy lights - Fairies are drawn to witches who love each other - but maybe you’re right, Ginny,” Luna said kindly. “Anyway - that was nothing compared to Harry and Hermione’s sex-magic.” 

“That’s true,” Ginny agreed, dropping her hand away from her face altogether now that she was sure Harry and Hermione were covered up. “The whole earth shook, and there was so much lightning... Luna’s right - it’s really rare as far as I know. Has it happened to you two before?”

“Er... first time... I mean this was our first time having, er... sex - going all the way I mean,” Hermione said a bit squeakily, her cheeks blazing bright red. “I didn’t even know that could happen,” she admitted.

“It’s just something I’ve overheard Mum talk about with her friends,” said Ginny. “They’re always hoping that one day it’ll happen to them. It’s supposed to be a sign that two people are really in love, or really meant to be together. But the most that usually happens to most people is a few sparks... I think.” 

Harry turned a bit pink when Ginny gave him and Hermione a significant look. He felt a bit weird about things, considering that just a few months ago he had been wondering if there might be anything between him and Ginny. But Harry also felt extremely relieved that Ginny was apparently well and truly over her crush on him. 

“So, er... you and Luna? You’re definitely not planning on getting back with Dean then?” he asked, trying to sound casual, which was difficult when he and Hermione were both still naked and huddled together under a blanket.

“Yeah, Dean was alright - don’t get me wrong - but we were arguing too much... over the _stupidest_ things! I couldn’t see being with someone who annoyed me all the time like that.” Ginny glanced at Hermione, half-smiling. “It’s _much_ nicer being with someone who you get along with better.”

Ginny’s meaning was unmistakable and Hermione reddened again. Then Ginny grinned and peered adoringly at Luna. 

“Besides, Luna’s a better kisser,” she concluded. “Not to mention she’s much sweeter.”

Luna blushed and grinned, fluttering her eyelashes shyly. “I love you too, Ginny.”

**~o0o~**

After dressing while Luna and Ginny had both covered their eyes, Harry and Hermione had both flown back up to the front lawn of the castle, where they spotted Dora looking relieved to see them both returned safe and sound.

Having recovered from the embarrassment of being caught in the act by Ginny and Luna, Harry and Hermione both felt vastly cheered and in a much more positive frame of mind about the future. Entering the castle and heading back to their quarters to clean up, Harry felt more clearheaded than he could remember feeling in ages.

“D’you want to study a bit Hermione?” he asked as they waited for the moving stairs to reach the right landing. “I think I’m actually up for it now.”

“Oh!” said Hermione, looking a bit surprised. “Alright, I think I’m up for it too then. Where do you want to study?”

“Maybe the Gryffindor common room for a bit, now that I’m in a good mood.”

A short while later, when the pair entered the common room, they found Ron slumped on a sofa looking a bit gloomy as Lavender cuddled him, apparently trying to console him.

“What’s up?” asked Harry. 

Ron pointed at the sign on the wall, announcing the date of the Apparition Licensing Test: the twenty-first of April.

“I’m still rubbish,” Ron moaned. “I haven’t managed to Apparate even once yet.”

“I haven’t either, Ron,” said Lavender, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure we’ll get it though. We both just need to practice more.”

“And I won’t even be able to take the test until my birthday in July,” Harry pointed out, hoping it would make Ron feel better. Even though Harry knew he was technically emancipated, and could take the test on April twenty-first if he wanted to, the emancipation had been done surreptitiously, and there was no way that Harry was going to give the Ministry a chance to figure it out under the current circumstances.

“Yeah, but at least you know how, Harry,” Ron grumbled. “You and Hermione have done it loads of times. You’ll have no trouble getting your Apparition Licence.”

“Well, there’s no point worrying about it anymore right now, Ron,” Lavender insisted, rolling her eyes. “Look, you’ve still got that essay to finish for Professor Moody about Dementors. Why don’t you try and finish it, and then we’ll snog for a bit.”

But even the promise of a snogging session did little to improve Ron’s mood. He scowled when Lavender set his parchment and quill in front of him with a remarkably Hermione-ish expression on her face. Sighing, Ron picked up his quill and began to scrawl.

Having both completed their own essays on Friday, Harry and Hermione left Ron to it with Lavender, and began revising their essays for Professor Slughorn. Harry pulled out the Prince’s book and Hermione curled up on the sofa next to him, peering over his shoulder as they compared their essays with the book and the Prince’s annotations. Hermione frowned at an incantation scribbled in the margin of the page which had caught both of their eyes.

“Sectumsempra,” said Harry. “I wonder what that one does?”

“ _‘For Enemies,’_...” Hermione muttered. “I’m really happy we’re sharing the book now Harry, but I think this spell proves that whoever had the book was a bit dodgy. It’s obviously a nasty cutting curse of some sort. The Latin means ‘always cutting’ or ‘sever forever’ in English, depending on how it’s translated. 

“It’s probably a variant of Diffindo which leaves permanent damage. A limb which was cut off with it couldn’t be reattached, or a gash would leave a permanent scar, unless there’s a specific countercurse.”

“Oh!” said Harry, feeling shocked, his faith in the Prince slightly shaken. “I... er.... that’s horrible.”

Hermione chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “Still, it might be worth learning I suppose,” she said slowly. “It could be useful against something charmed to resist a normal severing spell...” 

“Oi! ... Harry, Hermione!” a familiar voice called out. They both looked up from the Prince’s Potions book to see Dora’s head sticking through the portal into the Gryffindor common room. 

“You’re wanted in Dumbledore’s office,” said Dora, her eager expression speaking volumes. 

Hurriedly, Harry and Hermione packed their books and essays back in their bags and slung them over their shoulders. Ron looked up from his essay, gawking in bewilderment as they disappeared through the portal.

“Ahem,” said Lavender sharply, “eyes back on your parchment mister. The sooner it’s finished, the sooner we can have some fun...”

**~o0o~**

When Harry, Hermione, and Dora burst into Dumbledore’s office, their nostrils were assailed by stench of stale alcohol and pipe tobacco, and their eyeballs fell upon the strange sight of a gleeful Kreacher perched atop a prone scruffy-looking, paunchy wizard lying on the Persian Rug. Dumbledore himself sat at his desk, serenely observing the situation, his fingers steepled.

“Master,” croaked the House-Elf, looking very pleased with himself, “I have him - the sneak-thief Fletcher.”

“Oh bloody ‘ell!” groaned Mundungus Fletcher when he spied Harry. “I shoulda’ known! ... I’m sorry alright! I didn’ know Sirius’d left ‘is loot t’you, ‘Arry... I didn’ mean nuffink by it - I wouldn’t’ve nicked it if I’d known it was yours. I mean it - I’m sorry! ... Albus, get this bleedin’ ‘ouse-elf offa me!”

“Not just yet, Mundungus,” said Dumbledore, the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye. “I’m not certain that a mere apology will be quite enough this time - but you and I shall sort that out later. In the meantime, Harry and I have some questions for you. Harry, do you wish to do the honours?”

Harry glowered at the slovenly wizard on the floor, taking some satisfaction in the fact that Mundungus had some scratches and bruises on him, no doubt dispensed by an enraged Kreacher. Hermione shot Mundungus a look of disgust and Dora outright smirked at his disheveled state.

“Professor Dumbledore’s right,” said Harry coldly, “Sirius was supposed to be your friend, and you betrayed him - you betrayed his memory! I’m not interested in your feeble apologies. I’m interested in finding some of the stuff you stole...” 

“Look, if you want them goblets - it’s too late. They’re all gone... ”

“Not the goblets, no,” Harry growled. “But if you’ve got any of the other stuff left, I’ll have it back - especially the pictures of Narcissa and Bellatrix, or Sirius’s mother’s gloves...”

“You can ‘ave _that_ lot,” said Mundungus, giving Harry a funny look. “Couldn’ even give that stuff away, could I? Dunno wot _you_ wan’ it for though...”

“For Kreacher, it’s all he had left to remind him of his family - people he cared about,” Harry snapped, trying his hardest to keep his anger in check. “Anyway, the golden locket that was in the kitchen cupboard - where is it? What did you do with that?”

“O’ course! Reckoned you’d want _that_ back,” Mundungus snorted. “Prolly the only valuable bit left at the ‘ouse weren’ it? ... and the fucking Hag wouldn’ even fork over a knut for it...” Mundungus trailed off, catching Dumbledore’s raised eyebrows at his salty language.

“Who? .... _Who_ wouldn’t give you a knut?” Harry pressed on eagerly.

“Dunno, some Ministry bi...” Mundungus thought better of his verbiage, catching Dora and Hermione’s narrowing eyes. “Some Ministry Witch,” he amended himself. “Frumpy little woman in a pink cardigan - barely bigger than a goblin - stupid little bow on ‘er ‘ead... looked like a toad.”

Harry’s breath caught and he gaped at Mundungus, aghast. He glanced at Dumbledore, his eyes as big as saucers. “Professor, d’you still have the morning paper?”

“Indeed I do, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore wearily lifted the Daily Prophet from his desk, and held it up so that Mundungus Fletcher could see it. 

“THAT’S ‘ER!” Mundungus shouted angrily, forgetting himself. “That’s the bloody bitch ‘oo made me give up the locket. Threatened to fine me if I didn’t ‘and it over to ‘er...”


	14. Rites of Passage

There was a moment of silence in Dumbledore’s office following Mundungus Fletcher’s furious outburst, over which could be heard only the ruffling of Fawkes’s feathers. The Phoenix’s piercing gaze mirrored his human’s, his beady black eyes fixed as they were on the cross looking thief. 

“Bloody ‘ell!” Mundungus snapped after several moments passed, “I tol’ ya wot you wanted t’know, didn’ I? Now call this bloody ‘ouse-elf off and let me outta here!”

Dumbledore blinked. “Momentarily, Mundungus. You and I have some unfinished business to attend to - namely your general disregard for even the most basic levels of decency to be accorded those you counted among your friends. And when we have sorted that out, you will live up to your promise to return the remaining things you have stolen from Number Twelve, and Kreacher shall be accompanying you to assure your compliance.”

Kreacher’s face broke into an ugly grin at Dumbledore’s pronouncement and Mundungus groaned. A swell of satisfaction filled Harry’s chest. 

“Now,” Dumbledore continued, turning his attention to Harry, Hermione, and Dora, “obtaining the locket presents a serious problem which requires careful consideration, given the current set of circumstances. And this is probably not the best time to discuss our options...” Dumbledore’s eyes flickered meaningfully towards Mundungus Fletcher again. 

Fletcher snorted. “Why don’ you just set the ‘ouse-elf on the hag like you did on me?”

“Because said _‘hag’_ is now Minister,” sighed Dumbledore, “with all the magical protections which are afforded the office...”

**~o0o~**

“I don’t see why that wouldn’t work,” Harry muttered as Dora escorted him and Hermione back to their quarters. “I mean, whatever magical protections Scrimgeour had didn’t protect him from getting nabbed by wizards, and House-Elf magic is different from wizard magic, right?”

“Well, whether it was Ministry folk - like Unspeakables - or Voldy’s Death Eaters - either way, the Minister’s protections aren’t impregnable to highly skilled wizards,” said Dora. “And I suppose Ministry House-Elves protect the Ministry from being invaded by other House-Elves, but I admit, I don’t really know why we couldn’t send Kreacher or your friend Dobby to snatch it off ‘er neck when she’s not at the Ministry.”

“Maybe there’s some sort of special enchantment that prevents House-Elves from attacking the Minister,” Hermione suggested, “to prevent the possibility of a House-Elf insurrection. After all, House-Elves are magically enslaved and forced to obey their Masters specifically... It only stands to reason that they’d be forced to obey the Head of the wizarding government too.”

“Oh!” Dora’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked very impressed with Hermione’s logic. “I never thought o’ that. I suppose you’re right.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry sighed, rubbing at his itching scar. “That makes perfect sense, Hermione. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be _**that**_ easy! ... And I guess we can’t really go after Umbridge directly ourselves without proof that she’s corrupt or in league with Voldemort.”

“No, we can’t! That’s true Harry,” said Dora. “We’ll ‘ave to burgle the Minister somehow to grab the locket - can’t really ask Shacklebolt t’do it. S’pose we’ll just have to work it out with Dumbledore later. ... Anyway, what about your folks, guys? Did you write to them yet to give them a heads up about movin’ them for their safety?”

Hermione flushed guiltily. 

Harry shook his head and scowled. “No! I’ll let Moody deal with the Dursleys. But I’m not sure what to tell Hermione’s parents...”

“Hunh? What d’you mean Harry?”

“Er...” Harry glanced at Hermione.

“My parents,” Hermione moaned, turning even redder. “I’ve been putting it off because I never told them about Voldemort, or much of anything beyond my school-work really. After I wrote and told them about the Troll incident in First Year, I could tell from the tone of the letters I got back that they - well, Dad anyway - I could tell he was having second thoughts about letting me come to Hogwarts.

“So I kept most of everything that’s happened to me with Harry and Ron to myself after that... other than a bit about how horrible the Malfoys were after Mr Weasley got in a fight with Lucius Malfoy just before second year. So now - after all this time - I have have no idea how to tell Mum and Dad what’s going on, and... er... erm...”

Hermione faltered, not wanting to say that she was also afraid that her father would hate Harry if she told him everything. The last thing she wanted to do was make Harry feel any guiltier for being her boyfriend and putting her in harm’s way by being Voldemort’s primary target. 

“...er, anyway, I just don’t know what to say without freaking them out,” Hermione concluded glumly. 

“Blimey!” Dora groaned. “Yeah, that’s a real problem then. I dunno what the hell t’do about that. Maybe... maybe it’d be better to just alter their memories a bit until we get this all sorted out.”

“I... I was thinking about that,” Hermione admitted in a small voice, casting her pooling eyes at the floor. “I was wondering if it wouldn’t be better to send them off somewhere thinking that they didn’t even have a daughter...”

Harry was aghast. “Wait, why on earth would you do _that,_ Hermione?”

“That’s a bit extreme, innit?” said Dora, looking a bit shocked. “I just meant we could make them think they’re going on a nice long holiday and send ‘em to the Bahamas or somewhere else nice an’ sunny.”

Hermione bit her lip, and the threatening tears began to trickle down her cheeks, knowing she couldn’t hide the truth from Harry after all.

“Because... because if they don’t know that they have a daughter, they won’t be hurt - they won’t miss me if.... if anything happens to me while we’re fighting Voldemort.” Hermione saw Harry’s face turn ashen - a horrified look in his eye - and he opened his mouth as if to object.

“And don’t even think about trying to keep me out of it, Harry,” said Hermione fiercely. “I already said we’d finish this together, one way or the other. And it’s a promise I intend to keep... not _**just**_ because it’s the right thing to do and because I love you, but because this is bigger than both of us. I know you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t do everything you could to stop Voldemort from turning Britain into a Nightmare - well, I can’t either!”

“I wasn’t going to try and keep you out of it,” Harry replied quietly - though thinking to himself that he certainly would if he could. “But I don’t know if I could live with myself knowing that you’d give up your parents to help me either - knowing how much they both mean to you - how much you love them. ... I know what it’s like to not have proper parents, and I don’t want that for you.

“There must be _**something**_ we could do - something we can tell them without completely lying to them or altering their memories. ... Look, you said they know about the Malfoys, right? ... You told your parents how much they hate Muggles and Muggleborns?”

Hermione nodded, wiping her wet cheeks with a hanky. “Yes, I had to explain why Mr Weasley got in a fight with Mr Malfoy... that Mr Weasley wasn’t offended about being compared to Muggles, but because Mr Malfoy was implying that they were less than human.”

“Then maybe we should just tell them that people like the Malfoy’s have taken over the Ministry,” said Harry. “We can tell them about Umbridge, and even about Voldemort being the terrorist who’s probably behind it all. We don’t have to tell them _everything_ else though - that Voldy and Umbridge are after me specifically - if you don’t want to. 

“Just tell them that I’ve decided to help Dumbledore fight them, and explain why you want to help too. That way you won’t _really_ be lying, and you won’t have to change their memories.”

Hermione gnawed her lip, her brow creasing pensively; she thought for a few moments before slowly nodding again.

“Yes! Okay Harry, I think you’re right. I know they still won’t like me staying in Britain if they go away, but I think they’ll manage to live with it. Dad’s father fought in World War II against the Nazis, and he’s always been very proud of him for that, and Mum was an anti-nuclear activist. I... I think I can make them understand why I have to stay and fight, and why it’s safer for them to leave.”

Hermione gave Harry a sad little smile and threw her arms around him. “Thank you Harry. That was very sensible and kind of you. I just wish I could tell them in person.”

“Y’know, I think we can arrange that, Hermione,” said Dora, looking brighter, “now that you can both apparate...”

**~o0o~**

“So is he sure? How long d’we have to keep looking? This is getting boring,” moaned Goyle. Crabbe grunted and nodded.

Theodore Nott scribbled on the piece of parchment and sighed. 

“Crap, this is going to take us forever,” he grumbled. “But we’ve got to keep searching the castle until we find something. He’s pretty sure those Weasleys knew a...” 

Nott trailed off when he heard footsteps. He looked up and hurriedly folded the parchment when he saw Blaise Zabini enter the Slytherin Common Room.

“What are you lot up to, Theo?” asked Blaise, a bemused expression on his face. “Not homework surely,” he added with a meaningful smirk at the two gorillas seated next to Nott.

“Er... Reading a letter from Draco,” said Theodore. 

“Another one? I would’ve thought the Dark Lord would want to keep a tight lid on things.”

“He does! But he trusts me to keep my mouth shut,” Theodore retorted pointedly, lifting his chin up and puffing his chest out a bit. 

“And us too,” said Goyle, narrowing his eyes slightly at Theodore.

“Of course he does,” Blaise chuckled skeptically. “I’m sure the Dark Lord’s plans are perfectly safe in your hands...”

Theodore scowled, not certain if Blaise was being sarcastic, and a wave of suspicion raised the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Anyway, I’m off to practice for a bit,” Blaise continued. “Gotta stay on my toes if I want to stand a chance of beating Potter. So I’ll be out of your hair and you can carry on to your heart’s content, lads.”

Theodore nodded, his features relaxing, feeling reassured that Blaise was too interested in clobbering Potter to poke his nose into their business...

**~o0o~**

“Confringo!” Draco’s voice rang out again in the shadowed alleyway, his wand aimed at the top floors of the grey building across the road, the lower floors of which were already ablaze, crumbling holes in the walls where his initial spells had already impacted the block of flats.

A wave of exhilaration crested, flooding his senses as Draco watched the seven story concrete building burn, and another explosion rocked the street, blowing out all the windows of the flats on the top two floors. Shards of hot glass and chunks of concrete rained down on the muggles running and screaming below, and the wail of sirens could be heard echoing through the streets of Manchester.

“Nice work, Draco.” Amycus Carrow grinned. “The Dark Lord’ll be real pleased t’hear how well you’re coming along...”

A loud clanging from behind them caught Amycus’s and Draco’s ears, and they both whirled around to see a filthy man with a grizzled beard in threadbare jeans and a dirty, torn overcoat. The man looked weatherworn and old beyond his years, and was trembling like a leaf next to a metal dustbin lid which he had clearly knocked off in his terror.

“I didn’ see nuthin’ ... I swears!” the prematurely aging man moaned as he slowly backed away. “I didn’ see nuthin’...”

“Just a homeless muggle,” Amycus snorted, peering at the man with obvious disgust. “Go on then, Draco. Put ‘im out of his misery...”

“No! No... please! I won’ say anything...” whimpered the homeless man. “Please...”

Draco swallowed anxiously as nervousness dampened the euphoria rushing through his veins. No doubt there were muggles burning in the building across the street - but that had been easy, blasting the building without having to actually look at those inside. It was a lot harder when looking his victim in the eye, and Draco’s wand hand shook slightly.

“Come on, Draco,” said Amycus Carrow encouragingly. “Show me what you’re really made of. Be a _man!”_

Draco took a deep breath to steel himself and his hand stopped trembling. He nodded, and his face twisted into a grimace. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

A bolt of green magic arced like lightning from the end of Draco’s wand. The filthy vagabond’s screams died when the green lightning hit him in the chest, and he collapsed in a heap on the pavement. 

“Brilliant, Draco!” Amycus grinned, clapping Draco on the shoulder. 

“I did it!” Draco crowed, sounding slightly detached and disbelieving, half-smiling, his features still flickering as he peered at the dead muggle. “I actually did it!”

“The first one’s always the hardest,” said Amycus perceptively. “The next one’ll be loads easier. I think you’ve earned yourself a treat.”

“Er... what?”

“It’s time to make your transition to manhood complete, Draco!” Amycus chortled, lewdly grabbing at his crotch. Draco’s eyes widened in understanding and his cheeks flushed.

“I’ve had girls,” said Draco in a petulant tone of voice. “I’m not a virgin.”

“Right! If you say so,” Amycus snorted, rolling his eyes. “Dependin’ on the Dark Lord’s plans, you might not get another opportunity t’wet your willy for some time. ... So what’s it gonna be Draco? You going to keep pretendin’, or d’you wanna pop your cherry? Hell, we can even find a young un for you, if you wanna pop a girl’s at the same time...”

Draco began to look more interested, a lustful gleam in his eye. “Really?”

“Yeah, really!” Amycus Carrow chuckled again. “We’ll find you a nice little muggle schoolgirl if that’s what you want.”

“Alright then,” said Draco, grinning. “Yeah, okay! I’m in...”

At that point, several gleaming red fire-engines roared onto the scene across the street from the alleyway and screeched to a halt, followed by ambulances and a swarm of police cars. The two wizards - the mentor and the pupil - watched for a moment, then vanished with two loud cracks.

**~o0o~**

Under cover of his invisibility cloak, Moody cursed the weather as he kept his magical eye on things. The wind picked up and the rain pelted him mercilessly, the grey skies above the London suburb darkening as dusk drew nearer. The limbs of the trees in the Grangers’ front garden began to sway.

Moody muttered under his breath and cast another water-proofing charm and another warming charm on his cloak, supposing it would be too much to expect the family reunion to be over in short order. This could be the last time Harry Potter and Hermione Granger saw her parents for the foreseeable future after all.

The atmosphere inside the Grangers’ living room was thick with tension as the rain hammered against the windowpanes. Dora kept glancing nervously out the streaked window, hoping Mad Eye wasn’t getting too cross. 

Jean Granger peered at her daughter, looking distraught. Hermione bit her lip, her features anxious while her father sternly questioned Harry.

“...So,” Richard Granger was saying, admirably restraining his temper, “this Voldemort maniac - he’s the one who murdered your parents isn’t he? ...and you mysteriously survived his killing curse when none others had before? I don’t suppose Voldemort can be too happy about that, and he’s probably targeting you again now that he’s back.”

“Er... erm... yeah!” said Harry awkwardly, not wanting to directly lie to Hermione’s parents; he shared a quick look of surprise with Hermione. 

“How did you know?” squeaked Hermione.

“Your book, _Modern Magical History_ ,” said Mrs Granger, smiling despite herself. “You left it on the table once and I skimmed through it. But I must assume it didn’t have the whole truth, if Voldemort is still alive.”

“That’s the bit I don’t understand,” said Mr Granger, scowling. “How is it that this terrorist is still alive, if he blew up, taking half the roof of your parents’ house with him, Harry? That doesn’t make any sense. Even with what little I know of your world, I find it difficult to swallow that wizards can bring the dead back to life.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Hermione moaned, taking over Harry’s bit of the conversation. “You’re right that wizards can’t _really_ bring back the dead, but Dumbledore reckoned that Voldemort had done something to stop himself from dying to begin with. I can’t really tell you any more than that - Dumbledore says the information is too dangerous for anyone to know.”

“I suppose that make sense.” Richard Granger nodded, still sounding disgruntled, and turned to Harry again, a mixture of emotions on his face. Harry gulped, wondering how angry Mr Granger was that nobody had ever told him that Harry was a marked man. Harry was stunned when Mr Granger gave him a sympathetic, though strained, smile.

“Well, Harry, I can certainly understand why you’re determined to stay in Britain and fight. If it had been my parents he’d murdered, I’d want some justice too...” Mr Granger shook his head and sighed resignedly. “I admit, I’ve been worried about allowing Hermione to be part of the wizard world ever since Jean showed me that history book, but I took some comfort in believing that maniac was gone, and that people like that cretin in the bookstore were generally frowned upon by wizarding society.

“But if this new Minister is any indication, it seems to me that the views of pureblood supremacy must run deeper than I had believed...”

“It’s really not _that_ bad,” Hermione interjected, an insistent, beseeching look on her face. “Most wizards aren’t like that, it’s just that...” 

“Dear, your father and I are old enough to know how the world works,” Hermione’s mother interrupted patiently. “Even in the non-magic world - in even the most forward thinking societies, among the most forward thinking people - cultural prejudices are so ingrained that many people consciously and unconsciously harbour views and beliefs that they either don’t recognise, or would be ashamed to openly admit to when they do.”

“Yeah, that’s more or less true of the wizard world too,” Harry confessed ruefully, getting in another word edgewise. “But Hermione’s right in that most wizards wouldn’t support Umbridge if they knew how bad she really was. Though, if they knew that she was in cahoots with Voldemort, they’d probably be too afraid to do anything.”

“And though I'm not at all happy about it, that’s exactly why I’m _**not**_ going to try and stop Hermione from staying and fighting with you, Harry!” said Mr Granger earnestly, astonishing Harry and Hermione both. “Britain is our home - our country - and I understand why you and Hermione want us to leave for our safety - and we will - but we’d also like to be able to return one day...”

“...and we can’t really do that if a racist madman and his puppet Minister are in charge now, can we?” said Mrs Granger, completing her husband’s sentence, her wetly glistening cheeks belying the beaming smile on her face. “Richard and I couldn’t be prouder of you both for wanting to stay and fight for what’s right, and not abandoning the rest of Britain to its fate...”

“Oh Mum!” Hermione burst into tears and flung herself on her mother, squeezing her tightly. Mr Granger rubbed his own stinging eyes and peered at Harry.

“I know I’ve already said it once Harry...”

“I’ll look after Hermione, I promise!” Harry said quickly.

“Well, if I know Hermione, _she’ll_ be trying to look after _you,_ ” Mr Granger retorted, chuckling wanly. “Just look after each other, alright!”

“Yes sir! Of course!” Harry nodded vigorously.

“Good! Now that’s settled, what about dinner?” asked Mrs Granger, who still had her arms full with a sobbing Hermione. “Please say you’ll stay.”

“Er... well, Moody,” Dora muttered tentatively, her eyes flickering back to the window, through which she could see a flash of lightning. 

“Tell the poor man to come inside at once,” said Mrs Granger, suddenly noticing the tempest raging outside. “He’s welcome to join us...”

**~o0o~**

Hearing the front door of the manor open and close again, Narcissa rested her book on the highly polished ebony coffee-table and strode across the parlour. Standing in the entryway, Narcissa frowned when she saw Draco; there was something different about him.

“You’re late, Draco,” she snapped. “You went out with Amycus hours ago. Where have you been?” 

“Just having a bit of a fun, Mother,” Draco said smugly. “Carrow thought we should celebrate a bit after the mission. It went well - should be in all the muggle papers tomorrow - the Dark Lord should be pleased. Anyway, I’m famished, and a bit knackered to tell you the truth.” 

“Dinner was served an hour ago, but I can have Manky bring you some supper in the parlour, and you can tell me all about it.”

“I’ll take it in my room, Mother. I said I’m tired.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” said Narcissa sharply. “I want to know what sort of ‘celebrating’ you’ve been doing. I’m not certain that Amycus is the best role model...”

“I just had a few drinks with him,” Draco huffed, “some Firewhiskey - and we chatted up a few witches, alright? Can I _please_ get something to eat and go to bed?”

Observing her son’s demeanor, Narcissa was more certain than ever that she knew what he and Amycus had been getting up to. Not that she had any sympathy for muggles, but the thought still made her stomach curdle slightly nonetheless.

“Draco - if you were caught...”

“I’m not going to get caught - the Dark Lord removed my Trace, remember?” Draco shot back loudly. “Besides, nobody knows I was expelled, and even if the Aurors caught me, they’d have to let me go. Minister Umbridge would make them.”

“For the time being, Dolores still has to present a moderate face to the public, and pretend to be against the Dark Lord,” Narcissa was quick to remind her son. “She cannot move too quickly to enact the Dark Lord’s agenda until Dumbledore has been thoroughly discredited.”

“I’m too tired for politics, Mother,” Draco whined. “Look, I’ll be fine alright! And if things keep going as well as they are, we’ll have Father back, and we’ll be in the Dark Lord’s good graces again in no time. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes! I want us all to be a family again,” said Narcissa, relenting, her features softening. “Alright then, Draco - to bed with you. Just call for Manky yourself when you’re ready for supper.”

“Will do,” said Draco, looking relieved. “Good night, Mother.”

Narcissa watched her son saunter up the marble stairs towards his room. When he was out of sight she frowned again. Draco was right - things were moving in a positive direction in terms of appeasing the Dark Lord, and with Dolores now in charge at the Ministry. 

But then why did she still feel so uneasy about the situation? 

Her stomach churned mildly again, and Narcissa angrily squashed her doubts about the path her son was traveling. Draco was doing what he was supposed to be doing, living up to the Malfoy name, taking his rightful place in the wizard world as a Pureblood wizard of means and power - the scion of a Noble House. It was what she had wanted for him, wasn’t it? What the hell was wrong with her?

When she heard Draco’s door shut upstairs, making up her mind, Narcissa spun around and stalked to the tall front doors of the manor. She strode down the pathway through the estate, past the hedgerows and the peacocks. Narcissa shut the wrought-iron gates behind her with a clang and disapparated, hoping that Severus would be able to salve her discomforting mood.

**~o0o~**

Wormtail filled the chipped Blue Willow teapot with hot water and sulkily brought Snape and Narcissa some tea and biscuits, wondering again how it had all gone so wrong. It wasn’t fair. By rights, Wormtail should be at the Dark Lord’s side as his Second, instead of servant to Snivellus. Neither that miserable, pompous failure Lucius, nor Snape, deserved the rewards of their Master’s benevolence, compared to Wormtail.

After all, it was Wormtail who had given up the Potters on a silver platter. And it was Wormtail who had sought out his Master in the Wilds of Albania when most others had seemed all too happy to believe the Dark Lord to be dead. 

Who was it who had kidnapped and sacrificed a Ministry Lackey in a rather spectacular Blood Ritual which had created a rudimentary Homunculus for the Dark Lord to inhabit?

Wormtail! That was who! 

_Wormtail_ had been the one to milk Nagini and look after the enfeebled Dark Lord for months on end. _Wormtail_ was the one who had created the potion and performed the second Blood Ritual necessary to restore his Master to his former self - to a _superior_ iteration of his former self which could survive physical contact with the Potter brat, and get past the Boy-Who-Lived’s magical protections.

 _Wormtail_ was the one who deserved the Dark Lord’s beneficence. 

But Wormtail kept his bitter ruminations to himself, knowing better than to anger Snivellus. Setting the tea-tray on the table, Wormtail quietly faded into the background, and kept his ears open, hoping to hear something which he could use to his advantage. He slipped behind the concealed staircase door covered with books and closed it.

Silently, the Animagus began to shrink. Once in his rat form, Wormtail squeezed into a crack in the wall with peeling yellow paint. Quietly, careful not to tap his silver paw on the floor, once on the other side of the wall, back in the sitting room with Narcissa and Snape, Wormtail scurried across the threadbare rug which adorned the dusty floor and hid under the sagging, worn sofa, listening to the conversation.

“...I am worried about Draco, Severus,” Narcissa was saying. “But I can think of no good reason now that I should. The Dark Lord seems pleased with Draco’s progress...”

“Yes,” Snape agreed quietly. “You should count yourself fortunate Narcissa. I hear that Draco has been acquitting himself admirably - that his skill and confidence are growing. I have no doubt that soon he will be ready to graduate from terrorising Muggles to facing Dumbledore’s forces and others who would continue to defy the Dark Lord.”

“That... that is what I am afraid of,” murmured Narcissa. “Draco is more eager than ever to do the Dark Lord’s bidding...”

There was a strange hesitation in Narcissa’s voice, and for a moment, Wormtail almost thought she might be wavering in her commitment to the Dark Lord, perhaps even to the idea of Blood Purity and the Dark path altogether. Then Wormtail dismissed that thought out of hand as nonsensical on its face.

“...and he is especially eager to find some _other_ means of surreptitiously invading Hogwarts,” Narcissa continued. “I... I just hope that the Dark Lord no longer expects Draco to go up against Dumbledore himself...”

Now that was an interesting tidbit which Wormtail had never heard before. Had that been the other component of Draco’s secret mission? ...to find a way to sneak Death Eaters into the Castle? Wormtail began to think with his tiny rat-brain, and wondered if Dumbledore had ever sealed up the old tunnel leading to Hogsmeade. It was likely that he had, but there was really only one way to find out. 

Wormtail quivered with excitement. If he could find a way to get the Dark Lord’s forces into the castle before Draco did, perhaps _then_ the Dark Lord would finally give his most loyal servant - Wormtail - the respect he deserved...


	15. A Reunion of Sorts

After thoroughly flossing, Richard Granger swirled the spearmint mouthwash in his mouth, scowling at himself in the mirror, wondering if he was doing the right thing. It wasn’t until he felt his gums stinging and tongue puckering that he realised he’d been swishing the mouthwash for several minutes and spat it out. Richard rinsed with some fresh water and wiped his face with a towel.

The knot of tension in Richard’s stomach tightened when he found his wife sitting on the bed, weeping quietly with her hands covering her face. He clambered up beside Jean and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she sobbed into his chest. Richard pushed back at the anger and guilt churning in his gut, knowing how useless it was at a time like this.

It wasn’t poor Harry’s fault after all. Taking his anger out on a boy - a young man really - who had already lost so much in life would have been entirely unfair. 

And what would it have accomplished to have had another row with Hermione? Especially when it might be the last time Richard or Jean ever saw their daughter. If it was to be his last memory of Hermione, Richard wanted it to be a good one.

It was clear that Hermione had made up her mind, and now that she was a legal adult in the wizard world, there was nothing he or Jean could do to force Hermione to leave Britain with them... and Richard wasn’t even completely sure that he wanted to, even if he could. 

Richard had been doing his best to put on a brave face for Hermione and his wife’s sake - for his own sake - but it hadn’t been entirely a lie. When Jean had spoken for the both of them, and told Hermione how proud they were of her and Harry, Richard couldn’t help but be reminded of everything his own parents had taught him about standing up for what was right, and fighting Fascism wherever it raised its ugly head.

It had been Jean’s idealism which had brought them together, when they had met at University in the mid 1970’s. His head buried in a book, Richard had nearly tripped over Jean who was sitting cross legged in the middle of a lawn when he wandered into a small meeting Jean had organised to try and rekindle Britain’s waning anti-nuclear movement. 

Jean’s invitation to join them had sparked Richard’s aspirations to do something meaningful with his life - something that his own parents would be proud of. One thing had led to another, and before he knew it, Richard had fallen madly in love with Jean, and they had participated in every significant protest movement together since then as much as their careers and having a daughter would allow.

Richard had seen that same bravery and determination - that same passion for justice - in Hermione; standing in her way simply wasn’t an option. 

Sighing, Richard kissed his wife’s bushy head as he gently rubbed her back, listening to the rain which was still pounding against the windows. Gradually, Jean’s sobs ebbed. She grabbed some tissues from beside the bed and loudly blew her nose, then peered pleadingly at her husband.

“We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we, Richard? ... Letting Hermione stay?”

“Yeah,” he croaked, smiling wanly, “we are. I hate it too Jean, but we don’t really have a choice, do we?”

“Not really,” Jean agreed, returning the smile with a sad little laugh and shaking her head. “Besides, she’d probably hate Australia...”

**~o0o~**

Hermione tried her best to put things behind her, relieved that her parents had taken things much better than she had thought they would, and hoping they’d like it in Australia. But she found that she still couldn’t sleep. Hermione tried to keep her sniffles as quiet as possible, so as not to wake Harry, but after an hour she felt Harry stir, curling his arm around her waist and kissing her bushy head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, Harry,” Hermione whispered.

“You didn’t,” Harry murmured back. “I can’t sleep either, knowing how much you miss your parents.”

Hermione rolled over to face Harry and wrapped both arms around him. Harry kissed her forehead and wet cheeks. They held each other in silence, and gradually - eventually - both drifted off into a sound sleep...

**~o0o~**

Harry had hoped for better when Dora told him and Hermione that she had caught up with Dumbledore before breakfast the following morning, but much to Harry’s great annoyance, Dumbledore had decided to table immediately pursuing Slytherin’s Locket while he considered “the most suitable options for its recovery.” But Harry didn’t have very much time to wallow in irritation, as he found himself with a new responsibility thrust in his lap.

“Wait, I’m going to be _what?”_ Harry gaped at Dora, not sure if he’d heard her correctly.

“Sharing substitute teaching duties with me in Defence Against the Dark Arts the next few days while Mad Eye’s overseeing the resettling of Hermione’s folks and the Dursleys,” said Dora, chuckling at the expression on Harry’s face. 

“I know you’re already TA’ing for Moody in your class,” Dora continued, “but apparently, you did so well trainin’ up the DA last year, Dumbledore reckoned you should help me out with the other periods as well, seeing as you’ve got more experience than me actually teaching kids. And Hermione can help too, seeing as we all have to stick together.”

“But what about our other classes?” asked Harry as he rubbed at his scar.

“It’s only for a few days, Harry,” said Hermione. “We won’t fall behind too much.”

“Er, right!” Harry swallowed nervously and nodded, taking a deep breath. “Only a few days. ... Okay then...”

Fortunately, the very first lesson of the day was a class of fifth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. With a few friendly faces - specifically those of Luna and Ginny, and Colin Creevey - Harry’s anxiety at helping Dora teach the students who hadn’t been part of Dumbledore’s Army lessened considerably, and by the end of the day he could barely remember why he’d been so fussed to begin with.

“You’re a natural born teacher, Harry,” said Dora, grinning, after the last group of students of the day departed from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

“Isn’t he though?” Hermione beamed. “Nearly everyone in the DA learned how to perform Corporeal Patronuses, thanks to Harry’s patient tutoring.”

Dora’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Blimey! Really? Barely half the Auror Corp can even manage a _Corporeal_ Patronus. That’s usually where recruits wash out of the programme... You gotta at least pull off a basic Patronus Shield to make it all the way through, and that’s tough enough for a lot of Auror applicants.” 

“Er... Well, it probably would’ve been a lot harder if we’d actually had a Dementor to practice on, like I sort of did,” Harry muttered, his features reddening. 

“Maybe,” said Dora. “But we didn’t train with Dementors to begin with either...”

“And I’m sure we could make our Patronuses work in a pinch,” said a familiar dreamy voice behind the trio. Harry, Hermione, and Dora all turned around to see Luna and Ginny trailing behind them.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to manage it at all,” Luna continued, smiling beatifically at Harry. “I try not to be sad about my mum dying, but it’s hard sometimes. If Harry hadn’t made friends with me, I’m not sure I’d have ever worked out how to do a Patronus, and now I’ve got lots of happy memories to choose from.” 

Luna said that last bit with a look at Ginny which made Ginny blush.

“Me too,” said Ginny, grinning. 

“I know,” said Luna matter-of-factly. “Your first happy thought had to do with Harry too...”

 _“Luna!”_ Ginny squeaked, her blush deepening. Harry and Hermione both turned a bit pink as well. Dora chuckled and shook her head.

“Anyway,” Luna went on, “we really liked your lesson today, and we were wondering if you and Hermione were thinking of restarting the DA, Harry.”

“Er...” Seeing Luna’s eager expression, Harry suddenly felt a bit guilty.

“You don’t have to feel bad Harry,” said Ginny quickly. “We know you’ve been going through a lot since Sirius was killed, and then with everything else that’s been happening...” Ginny gave Hermione a sympathetic look. “We were just sort of hoping you and Hermione might feel up to it now...”

“But only if you’ve got time for it,” Luna added. “We know you’re both busy, and Professor Moody is teaching us most of what we need to know anyway.”

Hermione and Harry shared a look, both suddenly understanding what Luna and Ginny were really asking: Luna had always looked forward to DA meetings more than just about anyone else - perhaps more as a reason to hang out with friends than anything. 

“Well, we were planning on practicing a few advanced spells on our own in the Room of Requirement,” said Hermione. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“I suppose we could see if anyone else wants to as well,” Harry agreed, “if you’d like to meet us there for an hour after dinner...”

**~o0o~**

“I’ve got too much homework tonight - another bloody essay for Potions,” Ron grumbled when Harry asked him during dinner, shooting a frown at Hermione who was chatting to Parvati and Lavender. “Even with Ernie’s help, I still can’t hack it. I think I might have to drop Potions...”

“Seriously?” Harry looked stunned. “Are you joking?”

His ears reddening, Ron glanced around to make sure nobody was listening, then leaned in closer to Harry. 

“It’s just too bloody hard without Hermione helping me, or... er, trying to copy whatever _you’re_ doing,” Ron whispered glumly. “I... I was wrong, Harry! Even if I had the Prince’s book, I still wouldn’t bloody know what the hell I was doing in Potions. But you’re obviously brilliant at it without Snape harassing you all the time.

“It’s not just Potions either! ... I reckon I wouldn’t’ve got half as many decent OWL’s if it weren’t for you two, and the only reason I’m not failing out of Transfiguration at the moment is because Lavender’s brilliant at it. She’s been helping me loads - but I’m still just barely passing.”

Harry flushed, feeling guilty for the second time that afternoon, not really knowing what to say.

“Er... I’m sorry Ron,” Harry muttered. “You’re still doing great in Defence Against the Dark Arts at least. And maybe, er... maybe I can talk Hermione into helping you...”

“NO!” Ron shook his head vigorously, his eyes widening in terror as he looked to make sure that Lavender hadn’t heard. “Don’t say anything! Please! Lavender would probably freak if I started hanging out with Hermione again. She’d probably set a lot worse than Canaries on me... probably send Eagles or Vultures to peck my eyes out. 

“Besides, I, erm... I really _don’t_ want to upset her. I think... I think I’m really falling for Lavender, Harry.”

“Really?” Harry stared at Ron incredulously as the hits just kept coming. If Harry was being honest with himself, it was the last thing he had expected to hear, despite Ron’s protestations of how much he fancied Lavender at the tail end of their row following the Christmas holidays.

“Yeah! Really Harry! I think... I love Lavender. I really love her!”

“Er, wow!” said Harry, peering intently at Ron, looking for signs of illness or a love potion. But Ron’s eyes were perfectly clear. Harry suddenly grinned, feeling relieved in large part for Lavender’s sake, as much as for his own and Hermione’s. “Okay! That’s great, Ron. But what about all that ‘Won Won’ stuff?”

Ron managed to look a bit sheepish and earnest all at once. “Er... I’m sorta getting used to it, to tell you the truth. I mean, she really seems to dig me, Harry, and I dunno why really. At first I thought it was just because I’m half-way decent at quidditch now, but it’s more than that. 

“Lavender actually seems to _**like**_ me... she likes _**me**_... just as I am. She doesn’t seem to mind that I’m a bit thick or a bit grumpy sometimes,” said Ron, sounding amazed. “And now that we’ve been together for a while, it’s easy to talk to her about... well, about anything really! And... and Lavender doesn’t yell at me about stuff! ... I mean _yeah,_ she can get a bit cross if I look at other girls, and she’s a bit strict about making sure I do my homework. 

“But other than that, we’re great. We actually like a lot of the same things, _besides_ quidditch and shag... er, snogging. Lavender’s not half-bad at chess. ... I never realised, Harry...” Ron glanced at Hermione again then cast his eyes down, not quite able to meet Harry’s eyes, and looked even more abashed if possible.

“It’s just nice being able to get along with someone I fancy without fighting all the time. I never knew it could be like that,” said Ron in a small voice. Then Ron took a deep breath and looked up at Harry again. “Anyway, I may not be doing as brilliantly in all my classes now, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

“I suppose I’ll never make Auror now. But you know, I guess I just thought it would be cool to be an Auror because _**you’re**_ probably going to be one, Harry,” Ron admitted ruefully. “But honestly, I’ve always been more interested in quidditch anyway, really. ... I’m gonna go for it Harry - I’m gonna try out for the Chudley Cannons when I’m done with Hogwarts.

“And you’ll be brilliant Ron! I mean it!” Harry said sincerely. “Any team would be lucky to have you as a Keeper! I think that’s fantastic! And... I’m really happy things are so good between you and Lavender!

“Anyway, don’t worry about tonight - maybe we can practice spells some other time, if we both have time. To be perfectly honest, I think this is more about Luna and Ginny wanting to hang out with me and Hermione and Nev...”

“Yeah! I bet!” Ron snorted mirthfully. “Now that Ginny’s not with Dean anymore, Hermione’ll have to watch out...”

“What? But Ginny’s with Luna now...” Harry blurted out before halting suddenly. Did Ron really not know?

Ron let out a guffaw. “Haha! Really funny Harry. Ginny and Luna? Ginny doesn’t like girls like that... That’s barmy!”

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Ron quickly added, with another snort of mirth. “Luna I could see - she’s batty - but okay. But not Ginny... there’s no way!” he scoffed.

Not knowing what to say, Harry simply continued giving Ron a look.

“Come on, Harry, stop pulling my leg.”

Harry shook his head.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” said Ron incredulously. Ron’s head swiveled and he stared down the Gryffindor table at Ginny, who was sitting awfully close to Luna and giggling about something. “Nah... They’re just friends,” he said, sounding a little less certain.

“Well, it’s really not my place to say,” Harry said finally. “I suppose Ginny will say something whenever she feels comfortable enough to tell you. Maybe she’s just afraid to, after, er, the way you went mental on her about Dean.” 

Ron flushed, and had the decency to look ashamed.

“Yeah, but that’s because, Dean - he’s a guy... any brother would be arsed...” Ron trailed off, knowing how lame he sounded, a strained expression on his face. “Blimey! _Ginny and Luna?_ Really?”

“Look, even if you do think it’s weird, just be nice about it Ron! She’s your sister,” said Harry a bit sharply, taking the risk that Ron would think he was being self-righteous and judgmental.

“Yeah,” Ron sighed, deflating. “You’re right Harry. It’s really none of my business who Ginny goes out with. I shouldn’t have been such a knob-end to her about Dean. I just never knew she liked girls too.”

“Well, she probably wasn’t sure either, until recently,” said Harry wisely, deciding to leave it there and start digging into his shepherd’s pie...

**~o0o~**

In the end, it was a very small "reunion" of the DA of sorts. Nearly every previous member of the DA whom Harry or Hermione had approached had declined for one reason or another, being busy with their own lives - even Neville, whom they had suspected was just as eager as Luna to restart the DA. And Harry really couldn't blame him, as Hannah Abbott had apparently kidnapped Neville from the Gryffindor table before the end of dinner and dragged him off somewhere to snog him silly. 

So only Luna, Ginny, and Parvati met up with Harry, Hermione, and Dora and joined them in the corridor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. At first Parvati had said it was because she was bored, feeling more and more like a third wheel now that Lavender was spending so much time with Ron, but apparently there was a bit more to it. 

“...Besides,” Parvati was telling them, as they all traipsed up the marble stairs and through drafty stone passages, “the DA was the most important thing I’ve ever done at Hogwarts. I should have been with you lot at the Department of Mysteries...” Parvati trailed off, frowning when she spied three Slytherins lurking at the end of a corridor with their wands out, looking for all the world like they were searching for something.

“What are those three doing?” she muttered. Everyone glanced the direction Parvati was looking and spotted Nott with Crabbe and Goyle.

“Dunno,” said Harry, scowling. “Nott’s definitely up to something though.” 

“Maybe Malfoy lost something before he was expelled?” Hermione offered uncertainly. She caught Harry’s eye and in that instant, a disconcerting thought occurred to them both. 

Harry paled slightly. “Or maybe they’re looking for a secret passage... another way to get Death Eaters into the castle.”

“Bloody Hell!” swore Dora. “That’s an ‘orrible thought.”

“Wait,” Ginny gasped, sharing a horrified look with Luna and Parvati, “I thought Malfoy had just been taken ill or something...” 

“Is that why Draco Malfoy was expelled then? ...trying to help Death Eaters break into Hogwarts?” asked Parvati.

“Er... Partly!” Harry replied, glancing worriedly at Hermione and Dora when he realised they might be revealing more than they should have. 

Dora shrugged. “I don’t think it really matters if they know, Harry.”

“Know what?” asked Luna, her big silvery-grey eyes widening. 

“Draco Malfoy’s also the reason that Katie Bell is in St Mungo’s,” said Hermione. “And why Professor Slughorn got poisoned. Draco was trying to murder Dumbledore with anonymous Christmas Presents’...” 

“I don’t get it!” said Parvati, frowning. “Why wasn’t Malfoy arrested then?” 

“Did it have something to do with Professor Snape ‘getting sick’ too?” asked Luna. “Was he trying to help Draco assassinate Professor Dumbledore?”

“Well, it’s probably better for your safety if you don’t know everything just yet,” said Dora. “For now the most we can say is that yeah, Snape was sort of mixed up in it too. Can’t really say exactly how though - we gotta keep it all under wraps for the time being.” 

“I _**knew**_ it! Professor Snape’s a Death Eater, isn’t he?” said Luna, uncharacteristically scowling. 

“Er...” Harry was a bit taken aback, and he raised his eyebrows at Ginny, who knew as well as he and Hermione and Dora did that Snape was in the Order of the Phoenix.

“Snape’s always been really mean to Luna,” Ginny explained apologetically. “He’s absolutely horrible to her. It’s much better now that Slughorn is Potions professor. Snape made fun of Luna and the Quibbler and called her father an ignorant buffoon whenever Luna talked about magical plants and animals in class. And I knew I couldn’t tell her about...”

“Okay, look, I guess we’d better explain everything after all,” sighed Dora. “Let’s talk about it somewhere a bit safer then.” 

Fortunately, the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was all clear. Harry paced quickly back and forth several times, and when the magically appearing door was opened, the familiar setting of the gymnasium in which he and Hermione had led the DA the previous year was waiting for them on the other side. 

“Yeah, Snape _was_ a Death Eater a long time ago, back during the first war,” Harry began, once everyone was settled, sitting cross legged in a circle on the mat. “But he switched sides. And to be perfectly honest, I thought Snape might still be on Voldemort’s side too, but apparently he - Snape I mean - he’s been spying for Dumbledore - a double agent...” 

Parvati gasped at all of the shocking bits as Harry and Dora filled in the blanks. Luna nodded, feeling vindicated, a satisfied expression on her face.

“I’m really sorry, Luna,” said Ginny. “I wanted to tell you a bit about the Order, but...”

“That’s alright Ginny,” Luna reassured her girlfriend. “It’s a very important secret. It wouldn’t be good at all if Voldemort found out that Snape is really on Dumbledore’s side. ... There’s just one thing I don’t really understand - considering how horrid Snape still is - and obviously Voldemort must believe Snape is spying on the Order for _him_ \- how do we know for certain that Snape’s _**really**_ on the Order’s side now?”

“I don’t know. And I’m not entirely convinced he is,” Ginny admitted, her eyes flashing as they narrowed. “He’s always trying to get Harry expelled.”

“Er...” Harry flushed uncomfortably when Ginny peered at him. “Dumbledore didn’t really go into all the details. But... erm, my mum... apparently Snape had a bit of a crush on her when they were in school together - that’s part of why Snape hated my dad I suppose - and Snape switched sides when he found out that Voldemort wanted to kill her... because...” 

Harry swallowed, hesitating. Hermione bit her lip sadly and took Harry’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Harry took a deep breath and continued. 

“Voldemort killed my parents to get to me. You know - that whole Prophecy business - me being the Chosen One. Voldemort heard part of the Prophecy and reckoned I was the one - Snape told Dumbledore when he found out Voldemort was coming after my mum, because he still had some feelings for her and thought Dumbledore could save her, but... well... you know...” 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” whispered Luna; her big limpid eyes pooled, and Luna’s tears weren’t the only ones leaking; Parvati’s and Ginny’s cheeks glistened wetly as well. Harry nodded in acknowledgment. 

“...Anyway, _that’s_ why Dumbledore believes Snape, and... and I guess I do too,” Harry concluded, not quite able to sound like he entirely believed it either. 

An awkward silence fell in the Room of Requirement for a few minutes. Finally, Hermione cleared her throat.

“Okay! ... Er, now that’s out of the way, maybe we should practice some spells for a bit,” she began. “Harry and I found some interesting spells in his Potions book...”

“What?” gasped Ginny, peering at Hermione incredulously. “Are you joking? I thought you hated that book...” 

“We’ve been sharing it lately,” said Harry, smirking slightly, and Hermione’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. 

“Well, I still think whoever it originally belonged to was a bit nasty, and probably into the Dark Arts,” Hermione sniffed defensively, “but they obviously knew their stuff, and there’s no question that they were absolutely brilliant at potions. Anyway, some of these spells look a bit dangerous, but I think they’re worth learning, as long as they’re used carefully and only in appropriate circumstances...”

**~o0o~**

Harry woke with a start, remembering that there was something very important to discuss with Dumbledore, but at the moment, Hermione was still fast asleep, her arms wrapped snugly around him. Harry glanced at the clock. It was still very early yet, but Harry didn’t think he could go back to sleep. He kissed Hermione’s forehead and tried to relax, his thoughts returning to the session in the Room of Requirement in the meantime.

Things had gone rather well, all things considered, after the somewhat maudlin beginning. Judging by its effects on the dummies in the Room of Requirement, Sectumsempra had been just as deadly as Hermione had surmised, and Harry was glad he hadn’t accidentally cast it on Ron as he had Levicorpus. 

Everyone had practiced the spell and mastered it quickly, all agreeing that it should be reserved for only the most extreme circumstances after Ginny beheaded the wooden dummy upon which she was practicing in one swipe. Clearly feeling a bit disturbed after that, Ginny had suggested practicing a more cheerful spell for a bit, and Luna had wanted to do Patronuses. 

Harry and Hermione were only too eager to comply, as they had both been planning on exercising their new Patronuses anyway. Harry smiled to himself, gently stroking Hermione’s tawny-brown curls; the astonished expressions on Ginny’s and Parvati’s faces, and the curious look on Luna’s, at the sight of his and Hermione’s incandescent Lion and Lioness had been priceless. 

“Wow!” Parvati had exclaimed. “I didn’t know Patronuses could change - and both changing to Lions too.”

“Hmm... Probably because if anyone’s ever proved that they really belong in Gryffindor, it’s Harry and Hermione,” Luna had proffered sagely.

“That’s true,” Ginny had added, “They’re always doing something brave and chivalrous...” 

“No doubt about that,” Dora had said with a chuckle as she regarded Harry and Hermione’s embarrassed expressions. “They’re just about the Truest Gryffindors that ever lived.”

And in the confined space of the Room of Requirement, everyone had been swept up in the blissful intensity of the euphoria produced by the eddies and currents of the potent and voluminous flood of Magic generating his and Hermione’s Patroni as it swirled around the chamber. 

The tingles of Magic rippling across their skin had been almost arousing. It had been a supremely uplifting way to end the practice session to say the least, and Harry and Hermione had both blushed furiously when Ginny and Luna looked at each other knowingly and giggled.

**~o0o~**

“What are you grinning about?” Hermione murmured, startling Harry out of his reverie, having apparently just awoken.

“ ‘Morning Hermione... I was just thinking about our Patronuses last night. I guess I’m still getting used to the idea that they’ve changed. But I dunno - somehow...”

“...somehow it feels like they were always meant to be Lions,” Hermione finished for Harry when he paused.

“Yeah! Exactly!” Harry agreed, nodding. “Weird, huh?”

“It’s possible...” Hermione said slowly, looking thoughtful and slightly embarrassed, “It could be that Luna was onto something. I didn’t want to say anything last night, because it seemed a bit boastful to agree, but that might partially explain why _both_ of ours changed - to reflect the key traits that you and I both share, Harry. It more or less fits with what Dumbledore told us.”

“Er... yeah, I suppose that does make sense.” Harry half-smiled, feeling somewhat abashed, the sense of self-consciousness that he’d felt at Luna and Ginny’s observations rekindled. “Anyway, let’s hurry up and get dressed now that you’re awake. Maybe we can catch Dumbledore before breakfast...”

Now fully awake, Hermione suddenly remembered that she and Harry had planned to talk to Dumbledore at their earliest convenience. She leapt out of bed, dragging Harry with her towards the bathroom.

“Er... Hermione?” 

“No time for separate showers, Harry. Come on - it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked now.” Hermione giggled at Harry’s flustered expression, feeling secretly pleased that Harry was still shy about such things.

Hurriedly they showered together and dressed, then knocked on Dora’s door, and the three of them dashed through the corridors. The gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore’s office yawned, grumbling at having been awoken so early. 

“It’s barely the crack of dawn,” the gargoyle moaned as the trio raced up the spiral staircase.

Fortunately, when Dumbledore answered his office door, he looked as if he had been up for a while already, confirming Harry’s guess that he was an early riser.

“Harry, Miss Granger, Tonks! This is a surprise indeed, but not unwelcome. Please, come in, come in... Would you like some tea?” 

Dumbledore waited until everyone was settled and sipping Darjeeling laced with honey and lemon from delicate Belleek teacups, before pressing Harry, who looked bursting at the seams to tell him something urgent.

“Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit, Harry?”

Harry set down his teacup and reached into his robes to retrieve the Marauder’s Map, passing it to the headmaster. Professor Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows rose as he examined the map.

“Most ingenious! The detailing is extraordinary! ... This is the map which Barty Crouch Junior spoke of during the veritaserum interrogation, is it not? So much happened that night and in the ensuing months, I had forgotten all about it.”

“Er... yeah.” Harry looked a bit sheepish. “I snuck into his office and got it back. My dad and Sirius and Lupin - and Pettigrew too I suppose - they made this map when they were at school, and it has all the secret passages on it.

“Anyway, Hermione and I only just thought - it just occurred to us after seeing Nott sneaking around the castle yesterday evening - we think he’s looking for another way into Hogwarts. If Voldemort’s still trying to find a way into the castle, he might find out about the secret passages from Wormtail...”

“...and we thought you should probably block them as soon as possible,” Hermione squeaked.

“Thank you very much for bringing this to my attention,” said Dumbledore, looking very grave. “You are quite right of course! I shall have to block these passages at once. We are most fortunate indeed that Voldemort never thought to seek Peter Pettigrew’s counsel regarding Draco’s secret mission, but who knows how long that will last if Voldemort is still endeavoring to gain secret entrance to the castle, hoping to catch us unawares?”

To Harry’s great surprise, after peering at it for several minutes, Dumbledore handed him back the Map. 

“Sir? Don’t you need this?” 

“No longer! I have committed the tunnels of which I did not know to memory,” said Dumbledore, a twinkle returning to his eyes. “And you may yet have need of the Map again, as along with your invisibility cloak, it will no doubt prove exceptionally advantageous to protecting yourself and your friends - especially if Voldemort and the Death Eaters do manage to breach the castle. 

“It is quite possible - indeed very likely - that there are more tunnels which your father and his friends never found, and we can only hope that Voldemort does not discover them. But if he does, you will need every possible advantage. 

“Now, I expect you are also eager to learn of my plan for obtaining Slytherin’s Locket - and it is true that the sooner we retrieve the Horcrux the better - but I must beg your further patience, Harry, while I continue to give it careful consideration. However we accomplish this mission, it must be done in such a manner that Voldemort never learns of the Locket’s theft. It is vital that he does not...”

“Of course,” said Harry, light dawning. “If Minister Umbridge made a public stink about the locket being stolen, Voldemort would find out about it and he’d probably work out that we’ve been destroying his horcruxes...”

“...so we’ll probably have to replace Slytherin’s Locket with a fake - a copy - somehow,” Hermione added, her eyes widening.

“Blimey! Our work’s cut out for us,” Dora sighed. “We’ll have to come up with a real brainwave to pull this off smoothly.”

“Quite so,” Dumbledore agreed, stroking his long silvery beard and nodding. “By all means, if any of you have any ideas to contribute, do not hesitate to let me know...” The headmaster’s clear blue eyes caught the clock on the wall. “Well, unless there is anything further to discuss, it would seem that it is nearly time to join the rest of the school for breakfast. I must make haste if I am to block the secret passage before the day grows much longer...”

**~o0o~**

Wormtail scowled as he flipped the fried eggs and arranged the slightly burned toast and crispy bacon on plates for himself and Snivellus while he waited for the eggs to finish. He racked his brains for a convenient excuse to slip away after he had cleaned up following breakfast.

With a bit of luck, if he got Snape in a reasonable mood, Wormtail would have the rest of the day free and clear to sneak into Hogsmeade and into Honeyduke’s cellar as a rat, and scout out the old tunnel. And if all went to plan, Wormtail’s fortunes in the Dark Lord’s Army would soon be taking a sharp turn for the better...


	16. Silver Linings

The scrambled eggs churned uncomfortably atop the porridge in Hermione’s stomach when she saw the headline of the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Worriedly, she glanced up at the staff-table, then at Harry, who was chortling along with Neville at something Ron had just said. Hermione almost considered not saying anything for the time-being, and giving Harry a bit longer to enjoy a carefree moment.

But as a murmur of shock and bewilderment rose in the Great Hall among those others who took the morning paper, Hermione knew it was pointless. Better for Harry to find out from her now, rather than hear it from others as the day wore on. In any case, Harry had apparently noticed the frown on her face as she read the _Prophet_.

“What’s wrong now, Hermione?” asked Harry, sounding as if he were bracing himself for more bad news. 

“Did someone we know snuff it?” asked Ron, almost cavalierly. 

_“Ron!”_ gasped Lavender, aggrieved. Ron immediately shaped his face into a more appropriate look of concern.

“Er... sorry Lavender!” he said as sincerely as he could muster. 

“It’s alright,” she returned, patting his hand affectionately. “I know you’re just trying to put a brave face on things.”

“It’s nothing like that anyway,” said Hermione, passing the paper to Harry. “But it’s not good...” 

“Bloody hell!” Harry swore, his cheeks paling. Neville looked horrified as he peered over Harry’s shoulder. “Oh no!” Harry groaned as he continued reading.

“What is it? What’s going on?” asked Ron, sounding slightly exasperated when nobody said anything.

“According to this, Dumbledore was once Grindelwald’s best friend,” Neville replied, scowling, “and he believed the same tosh about ruling over muggles.” 

“No way!” snorted Ron. “There’s no bloody way!”

“I don’t believe it!” squeaked Parvati. “That’s not possible. Skeeter’s just making rubbish up again, isn’t she?”

“Not entirely, I’m afraid...” Hermione shared a dark questioning look with Harry.

“It’s sort of true, but not like that - not the way Skeeter is making it sound, anyway,” Harry growled as he scanned the article. “Dumbledore was a friend of Grindelwald for a few months shortly after Hogwarts, but they had a falling out when Dumbledore snapped out of it and realised Grindelwald was evil. 

“Dumbledore didn’t _really_ want to hurt muggles... he was just upset for a bit because some muggle boys had hurt his younger sister really badly when she was little, and for a while, he thought it might be better if wizards ran everything...” 

“... _benevolently_ ,” Hermione interjected, just to make things perfectly clear, taking the newspaper back from Harry. “But when Dumbledore found out that Grindelwald’s plans included torturing and murdering muggles, he realised that what he was doing was wrong, and they fought. His sister got killed during the fight with Grindelwald, and Dumbledore’s tried to make things right ever since.”

“Blimey!” Ron gawked at Harry and Hermione, amazed. “How do you two know so much about Dumbledore? I’ve never heard any of this before.”

“Me neither,” said Neville, equally stunned; indeed, everyone in earshot of Harry and Hermione looked utterly bewildered.

“Er...” Harry peered at Ron, feeling very awkward suddenly, now that he and Ron were on good terms again. It occurred to him that there was loads he hadn’t shared with Ron lately; and at this point it seemed more than a bit too late to mention the whole horcrux situation. Harry had to agree with Dumbledore; the less who knew that they were hunting horcruxes, the better. 

“Erm... He told us,” Harry said when he began again. “Hermione and I... er, we’ve been taking Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Dumbledore...”

Ron’s eyes bulged even more, looking like they might fall out of his head. “Bloody hell! No wonder you’ve been so busy lately!”

“That’s supposed to be really hard,” said Parvati, looking very impressed. 

“It is,” said Harry. 

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Dumbledore told us about his sister and Grindelwald so that there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises - just in case we managed to break through his defences. ... Anyway, this article makes it sound like Dumbledore still doesn’t really care about muggles, or muggleborn wizards. Here, listen...

“‘ _These unsettling revelations uncovered during the ongoing investigation into Dumbledore’s possible role in Scrimgeour’s disappearance raise a whole host of disturbing new questions. Is it possible that Dumbledore’s longstanding concern for the rights of muggles and muggleborn wizards is feigned? Might it be that he is merely using them - involving them in some sort of conspiracy to advance his own agenda and wield even greater power, possibly in a bid to taking over the Ministry?_

“‘ _And what bearing does all this have on Dumbledore’s longstanding blood-feud with You-Know-Who? Did You-Know-Who take up arms to counter Dumbledore’s long-time meddling and influence over Ministry policies, which had up-ended many noble and ancient wizarding traditions in the decades following the downfall of Grindelwald in the mid 1940’s?_

“‘ _What role did the Potters and their son play in promoting a pro-muggle ideology and the dilution of wizarding bloodlines with muggle blood? Like his father, Harry Potter is well-known for consorting with a muggleborn witch, and is rumoured to once again be in a close relationship with her. Indeed, sources indicate that they are now engaged, after years of a will-they/won’t-they relationship fraught with tension and tears following her brief fling with Bulgarian heartthrob, Viktor Krum, which brought their previous romantic liaison crashing to a halt two years ago._

“‘ _How do The Chosen One and his muggleborn paramour, Hermione Granger, factor into Dumbledore’s plans and the escalating unrest in the wizard world? Could the Ministry be caught in the crossfire between two extremes of ideology, both battling for supremacy in the wizard world? If so, which ideology is ultimately correct?_

“‘ _Minister Umbridge points out quite fairly that unlike the Great Prevaricator, Dumbledore, the misunderstood misanthrope, You-Know-Who, has never made any bones about his goals of restoring a Pureblood led order and making Wizarding Britain Great again._

“‘ _Dumbledore’s secret past of intrigue and double-dealing with Gellert Grindelwald then, could be key to understanding his current objectives. These questions and more will hopefully be answered in coming weeks as the investigation continues._

“‘ _Answering them may prove decisive in the road the Ministry takes as it moves forward, seeking out a path to a peaceful resolution to the conflict, while examining itself in the process, rooting out the most dubious policy changes which Dumbledore may have had a hand in over the past five decades_.’” 

Quiet fell across their section of the Gryffindor table when Hermione finished reading the most important bit of the article. Ron looked utterly confused, and Neville looked like he might be sick. Lavender and Parvati shared appalled glances while Harry and Hermione regarded everyone grimly. 

They were all startled when a familiar voice broke the darkening silence, and looked up to see two girls standing nearby, one with a _Daily Prophet_ in her hands, apparently having just arrived from the Ravenclaw table.

“Do you think any of this is true?” Luna’s popping eyes had a troubled look about them. 

“Or does this mean that Voldemort has secretly taken over the Ministry and is trying to make Dumbledore and Harry look bad?” asked Ginny. 

“A load of it is rubbish,” sighed Harry, “but the bit about Dumbledore once being Gellert Grindelwald’s friend is true. And yeah, we think maybe Voldy has something to do with it, but it _could_ just be all Umbridge’s idea. She’s always hated me and Dumbledore.”

“Why don’t you both sit down with us,” said Hermione, “We were just telling the others what we know anyway...”

**~o0o~**

It was difficult focusing on schoolwork and the knot in Hermione’s stomach grew throughout the day as she noted Harry’s darkening mood. The buzz of inquiry in the castle and the curious, dubious glances that the other students kept giving Harry stirred far too many uncomfortable memories of previous years. So when Harry opted for having Dobby bring them lunch in their quarters, Hermione readily agreed.

Following lunch, Hermione made her way back to the DADA classroom with Harry and Dora. She stiffened, her eyes narrowing when they neared the Transfiguration classroom and overheard Zacharias Smith trying to convince a group of Hufflepuffs that he had always known Harry was a dangerous traitor. 

Harry’s jaw tightened as his brows knitted into a scowl.

“Just try your best to ignore it, Harry,” Hermione murmured. 

“Hermione’s right, Harry,” Dora chimed in. “It’s doubtful that little weasel will have much luck with them anyway. Weren’t most of that lot in the DA?”

“Yeah!” Harry nodded, sighing. “That’s true. But so was Smith...” He trailed off, hearing the voices of the Hufflepuffs rising.

“Shut your mouth, Smith!” snapped Susan Bones, reaching for her wand. “Before I shut it for you!”

Hannah Abbott rounded on Smith as well, looking just as infuriated as Susan. “You’ve got some nerve, Zach! You were in on it last year too...”

“Biggest mistake I ever made!” Smith snorted. “Edgecombe had the right idea! And look what happened to _her_ \- she’s still got a few scars... Proves what a heartless bitch Granger is!”

Hannah, Susan, and Ernie were all momentarily taken aback, shocked into silence by Smith’s vulgarity. A hot rush of anger swept through Harry. Hermione flushed guiltily. 

“I didn’t know the pimples would take so long to fade,” she quietly beseeched Harry. “They weren’t supposed to last _that_ long... just long enough so that we’d know who sold us out and Umbridge couldn’t send any potential traitors to keep spying on us.”

Harry and Dora opened their mouths to reassure Hermione, but they were drowned out by sudden outbursts from Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones, who had found their voices again.

“Don’t call Hermione a bitch!” Susan yelled. “You’re an idiot, Smith! It’s not like she singled out Marietta and targeted her. Hermione had no idea that it would be Marietta...” 

“That was Edgecombe’s own bloody fault!” Ernie shouted over Susan, turning red in the face and looking like he wanted to punch Smith. “ _She_ was a traitor, not Harry! Edgecombe deserved it - if Dumbledore hadn’t taken the fall, Harry and Hermione would’ve been expelled and had their wands snapped... banned from magic for life. 

“And the rest of us might’ve been expelled and banned for life from magic too, but Harry and Hermione would’ve probably taken the fall for us, and said they’d forced us to join, because that’s the sort of people they really are - loyal and true, unlike you! ... They may be Gryffindors, but they’re better Hufflepuffs than _you’ll_ ever be, Zach! Why you weren’t sorted into Slytherin, I’ll never know! ...” 

“MacMillan, what’s all this racket out here? Why aren’t you all in class yet?” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cracked like whip as she flung open the door of the classroom, silencing the verbal combatants in the hallway.

“Prefects, shouting in the corridors! This is totally unacceptable!” McGonagall angrily declared as she bustled everyone into an empty classroom next to her own, shooting a look at Hermione, and at Ron - who had only just showed up moments ago with Lavender, Parvati, and Neville in tow - as if they had been in on it too. “Now, will one of the prefects please tell me what this is all about?”

Ron simply looked baffled, as he really had no idea. Hermione swallowed nervously as she and Ernie and Hannah all shared a look, none of them quite sure what to say. Harry glared at Smith, still furious that Smith had called Hermione a bitch, but Harry remained silent.

“Smith called Hermione a bitch,” Hannah finally said, as neither Hermione or Ernie seemed particularly keen to get anyone in trouble. “Hermione wasn’t yelling though - she didn’t say _anything_. That’s when I got cross...”

“No, don’t take the blame, Hannah,” Susan interjected as McGonagall’s lips pursed and eyes narrowed at Smith. “I was the one who was yelling at Zach...”

“And I was shouting too,” Ernie admitted. “Hermione had no part in the argument. My humblest apologies Professor!” he carried on in his usual slightly pompous manner. “I suppose Susan and I could have handled Zacharias’s impertinence better...”

“Yes, you certainly could have,” McGonagall agreed, her eyes still fixed on Smith. “But I can certainly understand why you felt the need to defend Miss Granger. Now, Mr Smith, perhaps you’d like to tell me why you decided to insult a prefect?” 

“I didn’t even see her,” Smith muttered sulkily, peering at the floor. “Didn’t know she was behind me.” 

“Excuse me?” McGonagall arched one eyebrow. “That’s not an answer to my question, Smith.”

Smith scowled and shuffled his feet.

“Well, if you can’t answer the question, Smith, I must assume that you had no cause but sheer malice, especially given your recent outburst on the quidditch pitch which sent Mr Potter to the hospital wing. Perhaps detention...”

“No!” said Hermione, much to Harry’s and Zacharias Smith’s surprise. Harry still felt like pounding Smith’s face in, and Hermione was the last person Smith had expected to stick up for him.

“He doesn’t trust me, because of what happened to Marietta last year...” Hermione continued.

“More like because he’s a nasty little coward...” Harry hotly interjected, unable to help himself. “Why are you sticking up for Smith after he laughed about you getting raped by McLaggen and said you were begging for it, Hermione?”

“Well, I never!” gasped McGonagall, eyeing Zacharias Smith with revulsion.

“Because he’s not the only one who doesn’t trust us after that article, Harry,” Hermione retorted. “Loads of people aren’t sure whether they can trust us and Dumbledore. And Marietta probably felt the same way last year, not sure that it was right to believe us and side with us against the Ministry. 

“When she got those pimples after turning us in to Umbridge because I’d hexed the sign up list, Smith probably reckoned he couldn’t trust us either. I didn’t mean for those pimples to have such long lasting effects - I should have been more careful with my spell-work...”

“Be that as it may,” McGonagall interrupted, giving Smith an icy glare, “Minister Umbridge’s corruption both then and now certainly justified taking extraordinary measures to protect yourselves from her, Miss Granger! 

“Umbridge’s torturous - and I daresay illegal - disciplinary methods did not go entirely unnoticed by the headmaster and myself, though any complaints on our part to Fudge regarding the matter would have certainly fallen on deaf ears - especially given Lucius Malfoy’s backing of their takeover of Hogwarts.

“Mr Smith’s behaviour though, if true, is reprehensible and disgusting. I can think of no justification for laughing at your misfortune at McLaggen’s hands and insinuating that you had it coming. Is this true, Smith?”

Zacharias Smith hesitated, then nodded sullenly.

“Then as much as it pains me to admit it, I would say I have to concur more with Mr Potter’s assessment of your appalling conduct,” said McGonagall, “though I perhaps might have worded it a bit differently. It seems to me that a few detentions are entirely warranted, not for the mere hurling of a random insult, but your apparent ongoing attitude problem. 

“I will be speaking with Professor Sprout about this, and perhaps she can impress upon you why it is considered ill-mannered to have a laugh about the sexual assault of a fellow student. ... In any case, we are all quite late for class now, and I suggest we get on with things. Report to me at the end of the day, Mr Smith...” 

Now that it was over, everyone made their way to their respective classes. Harry would have rather hexed Smith, or given him a good thumping, but he felt a degree of satisfaction that Smith would finally be facing some sort of consequences. 

“McGonagall, she doesn’t mess around, does she?” said Dora, who looked quite gratified herself. “I’d almost forgotten what a tough old bird she was. ... And try not to feel so bad about that Edgecombe girl, Hermione. Nobody blames you - nobody who matters anyway.”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, trying her best to put it behind her and finding it much easier now that Professor McGonagall had agreed with Harry about Smith, and vindicated her actions regarding the hexing of the Dumbledore’s Army sign-up list.

**~o0o~**

At the end of the long day enduring whispers and looks, following dinner, Harry, Hermione, and Dora headed back to their quarters, hoping that tomorrow would be a bit easier. The scrutiny that Harry and Dumbledore were facing was hardly new, after all.

“Hello Tonks! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Dora whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice, her eyes widening. For a moment she was frozen, not quite sure she believed what she was seeing. Harry and Hermione both grinned when they saw who it was.

“Professor Lupin!” Hermione squeaked.

“Hi Remus!” The relief in Harry’s voice at seeing Lupin alive and well was all too obvious. “Good t’see you again.”

“Glad to see you both looking so well too,” said Lupin, his moustache twitching.

“Remus! It’s really you! You’re here,” Dora beamed, her hair flourescing several shades of pink brighter. Then she glanced around worriedly. “You sure it’s safe, you bein’ in the castle?” 

“Perfectly... as long as Dumbledore is still in charge,” Lupin added ruefully. “And fortunately the other Aurors currently stationed here are all approved by Kingsley.”

“That’s a good point,” Dora agreed. 

“How’s your mission going? Is it over yet?” Harry hopefully asked.

“It’s going...” sighed Lupin. “Unfortunately, no, it’s not over. But I was here to meet Dumbledore and give him a full update - he suggested I take a night off while I had a chance.” 

“That’s brilliant!” said Dora, “Maybe we could all go hang out somewhere private for a bit - have a couple of drinks...”

“You can join us in our quarters, if you’d like,” Harry offered.

“That sounds like a splendid plan!” said Lupin. “By all means, lead the way.” 

Soon they were all sitting comfortably in Harry and Hermione’s living room drinking butterbeers, bathed in the orange glow of the flames crackling in the hearth. Clearly pleased to see Lupin again, Crookshanks curled up on his lap and purred while Hedwig gave a gentle hoot from her perch atop an oak cupboard.

They chatted for a while about things, some innocuous, some not, carefully avoiding talk about goings-on at the Ministry for as long as possible. Harry and Hermione caught Lupin up on events in their own lives; he was pleased to hear that Hermione had been able to move on from her horrible experience with McLaggen - which he had learned of while spending Christmas with the Weasleys - and happy that relations between Harry, Hermione, and Ron were more or less back to normal. 

“...and I heard that you two had been moved in together for your safety, but are the rumours true then, that you and Harry are an official item now?” Lupin asked, his eyebrows raised. “Or is it just more of Skeeter’s skewed reporting?”

“No, it’s really true,” Hermone beamed, taking Harry’s hand. “We’re really together now. Though we’re not actually engaged...”

 _“...yet!”_ Harry added pointedly, grinning. Hermione bit her lip and blushed.

“And I won ten quid off Mad Eye,” Dora chortled. “I always knew these two were destined.”

“Indeed!” Lupin smiled wryly, lifting his butterbeer as if to toast Harry and Hermione. “I must say, Sirius and I both saw it coming eventually too...” 

Lupin paused, not certain if he should mention how many times Sirius had suggested that Harry would eventually choose the brainy muggleborn witch as his partner, like James had. 

“Anyway, I couldn’t be happier for you both,” said Lupin instead. “It’s a shame that it couldn’t happen under brighter circumstances, but such is life,” he sighed. “We have to take the good wherever we can find it in such dark times.” 

“Er... so, speaking of which, what’s up with the werewolves?” asked Harry, now that more serious topics were on the table. 

“Unfortunately, far too many are joining up with Voldemort.” Lupin sighed again, and shook his head sadly. “Fenrir Greyback - the werewolf who bit me when I was a child - is managing to convince them that under Voldemort’s rule they will have a better life...”

 _“Fenrir Greyback?”_ gasped Hermione, her eyes widening as she glanced meaningfully at Harry.

“Er... should I know who Greyback is?” asked Harry, recognising Hermione’s look.

“Yes Harry! Don’t you remember? ...in Borgin and Burke’s? Draco Malfoy threatened Borgin with him - he said that Greyback was a family friend.”

“Oh, that’s right! I’d forgotten.”

“In retrospect, if I’d known who Greyback was then, I might have been more inclined to believe you that Draco was a Death Eater...” Hermione sighed. 

“Quite so,” Lupin agreed ruefully. “Greyback is a particularly nasty werewolf - one of the worst - he specifically targets children, placing himself in their vicinity during the full moon. And he has long been an associate of Voldemort, so it’s of little surprise that he would be close to the Malfoys.

“When Mad Eye told Arthur that Dumbledore would be expelling Draco Malfoy after the Christmas Holidays, Arthur was quite regretful that he had been so dismissive of Harry’s concerns. Still, at least we’re all on the same page now.” 

Lupin’s eye suddenly caught the clock on the mantle above the fireplace and stood up, draining his last bottle of butterbeer. “Well, it’s getting late - I have to leave early tomorrow morning and return to the pack before anyone gets suspicious.”

“I wish you could stay,” said Harry glumly. “I hate the idea of you being out there all alone.”

“As long as I keep my head down, I’ll be alright, Harry. You and Hermione look after each other, and I’m sure I’ll see you again before you know it. And I feel better knowing that Tonks will be keeping her eye on you both, too.”

“Yeah, she will.” Harry forced his features into a smile. “Bye for now then.”

“Good night, Professor Lupin,” Hermione waved, smiling sadly as Lupin opened the door to leave.

“I’ll see you out, Remus. I should be gettin’ some sleep too,” said Dora. “Okay, ’night you two,” she said to Harry and Hermione. Once in the corridor, Harry and Hermione’s door shut behind them, Dora gently tugged Lupin’s sleeve. 

“Oi, where’re you sleepin’ tonight?”

“The shack, of course.” Lupin eyed Dora warily, raising his eyebrows. “It’s the safest place for me, Tonks.” 

“Look, enough with the ‘Tonks’ nonsense,” said Dora, exasperated. “You know you mean too much to me for that...”

“Which is why I have to stay in the shack,” Lupin shot back. “I know how much you care for me, but it just can’t be...”

“Look - I get it!” Dora interjected forcefully. “I know you think you’re too old and too dangerous for me. And I know you’re afraid of gettin’ too close to me in case you get killed on one of your missions for the Order, and... and fine!

“If that’s the way it’s gotta be, then that’s the way it’s gotta be. I’ve made my peace with that, Remus! But what you said to Harry and Hermione about takin’ the good where you can find it - making the best out of silver linings - can’t you.... can’t you at least take a moment o’ good with me?” 

Remus sighed at Dora’s pleading expression.

“Look,” Dora went on, “I know that somewhere inside you have some feelings for me. I wouldn’t be pressing you otherwise. ... Just spend the night with me! No strings attached! ... I promise! If I can’t share my whole life with you, I’d at least like to share a few moments of it with you! You deserve at least a bit of happiness in your life... let me give it to you.” 

Remus rubbed at his forehead indecisively, sighing yet again. “Just tonight? Then you promise me you’ll move on? ...find yourself someone more suitable for a long term relationship?” 

Seeing Lupin waver, Dora’s heart began to race, thudding against the wall of her chest. She couldn’t believe she’d finally got through to him.

“Yeah, I will! I promise, Remus! ... Like I said, no strings! Just stay with me tonight.”

“Alright then...” Lupin nodded, relenting, his crow’s feet crinkling in a smile, “You win, Dora.”

**~o0o~**

Hermione snuggled closer to Harry as they lay in bed, winding her arms around him and planting a little kiss on his lips, her heart pounding. Laying her head on his shoulder, Hermione bit her lip, almost afraid to ask him. Maybe Harry had just been joking. The thought made her stomach hurt; she didn’t think she could bear the pain of it if Harry had been joking.

But if she didn’t ask, she couldn’t know for certain. For several minutes Hermione dithered in silence, not knowing what to do.

“You alright, Hermione?” 

“What?” she squeaked, startled.

“You seem tense,” said Harry, his voice full of concern. “And I think you’re starting to hyperventilate.”

“Oh... er... erm... I’m fine, really.” 

Harry turned his head, lifting his eyebrows skeptically. Bother it, thought Hermione, knowing that Harry wouldn’t let it go. There was nothing for it; she’d have to ask him now. Hermione took a deep breath to steel herself, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Okay, I’m _not_ alright! Harry, I... I have to know - what did you mean when you said, _‘yet’?”_

It took Harry a moment to figure out what Hermione was asking, then it clicked suddenly in his frontal lobes. But now he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. Maybe Hermione would think he was being stupid, that they were both too young. Even worse, what if she really wasn’t sure that she loved him enough for that. Maybe that was why she was freaking out. 

Harry almost wished she would open her eyes so that he could have a peek inside her brain, but he knew he could never really bring himself to legilimens Hermione without her consent. Well, there was nothing for it really, he’d just have to chance telling her, he supposed.

“Oh! Er... erm... Sorry, Hermione! It just sort of slipped out, but it wasn’t really a joke. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Skeeter’s stupid article this morning. Although, I suppose, in a way... she’s probably always been more right about that sort of thing than I thought - I know we’re both too young and still in school - and I haven’t had a chance to buy a ring to do it properly - I meant to think about it a bit first really, and work out the best time - and... and it would probably be better _not_ to think about it until after we finish Voldemort anyway,” Harry anxiously babbled, “but... but, yeah... I _was_ thinking of asking you to marry me eventually... one day, if... if you’d have me.”

Hermione bolted upright in bed, now feeling like she really might hyperventilate, her heart doing little flips as she peered into Harry’s earnest green eyes. 

“You... you really mean it?”

“Yeah! Er... We don’t have to do it now, if you’re not ready for it, but I love you Hermione! I can’t imagine being with anyone else but you... ever!”

“ _Yes,_ Harry!” Hermione squealed, peppering his face with little kisses. “Of course I’ll marry you! I love you too!”

Harry grinned, the future suddenly seeming much brighter.

**~o0o~**

Remus sighed contentedly when he woke early the next morning, a girl with pink spiky hair slumbering with her arm across his bare chest and her head on his shoulder. It was a contentment he knew couldn’t last - the potentiality for lasting joy had died with Sirius - but it was a rare moment of happiness nonetheless.

He felt more grateful than she would ever know for the one brief, shining moment of exultation she had given him. It was something he knew he would never forget - something he would treasure as long as he lived.

“Mmm...” she murmured, stirring as Remus climbed out of bed and began dressing, “Too early...”

“I know. I’m sorry, Dora...” Remus’s voice crumbled as he looked at Dora while he finished pulling on his clothes. 

He wondered if he had done the right thing, giving in to her... no... giving in to his _own_ need for that moment of human contact - that moment of love. It would be that much harder to maintain his distance the next time he saw Dora, but he couldn’t bear to regret it. There was an instant in which Remus felt something else he hadn’t felt in ages - hope - a mad hope that he would survive the second war. 

Maybe, just maybe, it was possible that the war would end with Voldemort finally dead, and Remus still alive. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible that he could find it in himself under those circumstances to take another chance on love - to take it with Dora.

But unless that unlikely scenario took place, Remus knew better than to hope for such an eventuality. For the time-being, keeping that moment of love he had shared last night with Dora alive would have to be enough. He leaned over the bed and kissed her on the forehead, then took out his wand and reached for an empty vial in his robes. 

“I almost forgot,” he said, pressing the wand-tip to his forehead and drawing out several strands of a silvery mist-like substance. Remus dropped the strands into the vial and stoppered it, placing it on Dora’s nightstand. “For Harry, just as you asked, Dora. I hope it helps him find what he’s looking for.” 

“It should do,” said Dora, smiling radiantly. She sat up on the bed, the covers sliding from her form as she drew Remus closer for a proper kiss goodbye. “I hope you find what you need one day too, Remus. Just do your best to stay safe out there.”

**~o0o~**

The rays of morning sunlight left dappled spots on the peeling yellow wallpaper as they pierced the years of grime coating the windowpanes. The sound of clattering pans and dishes filled the tiny kitchen as the slovenly rodent-like man bustled about obsequiously making breakfast.

It was more than apparent that the man was buttering more than toast, no doubt hoping for more time away from Snape. 

“Going out two days in a row? What are you up to, Wormtail?” Snape narrowed his glittering dark eyes at Wormtail as the furtive looking wizard set a plate of perfectly poached eggs on toast and sausages on the table. 

“N...nothing,” Wormtail stammered, avoiding meeting Snape’s eyes with his own. 

“I could just use my wand and legilimens you,” Snape hissed contemptuously. “Give me one good reason why I should not.”

Wormtail tried quickly to think of a response, not wanting to give Snape a chance to steal the credit if his search was successful.

“Because... because the Dark Lord - he would be most displeased with us both if I fail this task. It is a minor task, spying where only I can spy as a rat, I assure you, Severus.” 

“Strange that the Dark Lord has not informed me of this alleged... _task_ , Wormtail,” Snape sneered. “More likely you are feeling a need to sow your wild oats, having been cooped up here for so long. I am of half a mind to make an inquiry regarding said task...” 

“NO!” burst out Wormtail, his voice quavering with panic. “No! Okay, I was lying. ... You were right. It... it’s bloody boring being stuck here day in and day out, and... and yes, I could do with a bit of tail.”

Snape peered at the shifty wizard again, still not quite able to catch his gaze. But at least the story seemed more credible.

“Very well!” said Snape coldly. “I am as tired of your continual presence as you are of mine. I see no reason why we need endure each others’ company twenty four hours a day. Just be back by sundown, and don’t get caught.” 

“Yes! Yes of course! Thank you Severus! Thank you!” 

Wormtail scurried out of the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief. He hoped the second day of searching would be more fruitful than the first. Yesterday he had discovered, much to his dismay, that the entrance hidden behind the one-eyed witch had been blocked. But Wormtail was nearly certain that if he kept searching the tunnel to the castle leading from Honeyduke’s, he would eventually find some hidden branching passages leading to more secret entrances.


	17. The Potters' Tale

By the time Thursday rolled around, after three days of helping Dora teach Defence Against The Dark Arts, Harry and Hermione resumed regular classes as Moody had returned after resettling the Grangers and the Dursleys in Australia with new identities. 

It felt a bit weird adjusting to being a student again, and the continued suspicions and whispers of the other pupils weren’t helped by the _Daily Prophet_ , which had been having a go at Dumbledore and Harry nearly every day since the first bombshell dropped about Dumbledore’s friendship with Grindelwald. Then there were the new stories in the paper of wand thieves, and the bizarre insinuations that Dumbledore might have some ties to them, 

Harry tried his best to forget it, curious to hear how things had gone with Moody. He was aware that the Grangers had chosen Australia, but he was surprised that Uncle Vernon had agreed to be placed there as well.

“I would’ve thought he’d hold out for a swanky Villa in Tahiti,” Harry snorted when he and Hermione caught up with Moody after classes.

“Dursley certainly tried,” Moody chuckled. “When I pointed out that he’d be payin’ his own way after the first month, and that the best we could manage would be to magically persuade a local company to hire him on as an exec, he was a wee bit more reasonable.”

“How are my parents doing?” asked Hermione, looking very concerned.

“Just fine, Granger - no need to worry. They were no problem at all,” said Moody. “Apparently dentists are in just as big demand in muggle Australia as anywhere else. It was easy enough findin’ them solid, well-payin’ positions in a Sydney clinic and a spiffy new house for them. ... Anyway, sorry to keep this short, but I gotta be seein’ Dumbledore - no rest for the weary.” 

Departing with Harry and Hermione from Moody’s office, Dora reckoned that now was probably the best time - the moment she had been waiting for since Remus had returned to his mission the other day. 

“Oi, Harry,” she said when they reached their respective quarters, “I’ve got something for you. Hang on just a minute...” 

Dora darted into her private chambers. Harry and Hermione waited patiently in the corridor for a few minutes until she returned with a familiar device.

“Dumbledore’s Pensieve,” Hermione gasped.

“Er... what’s that for?” asked Harry, bewildered as Dora handed him the stone basin.

“I borrowed it for you,” Dora replied, reaching into her robes for another item, “...so you could check out this.”

As Harry’s hands were full, Hermione took the crystal vial full of swirling silvery mist from Dora’s hand, looking equally puzzled. 

“They’re Remus’s memories - a few of them anyway,” Dora explained. “I... I know you’ve been havin’ a bit of a hard time, figurin’ out what was up with your parents - what they were like - how they hooked up and all that nasty business with Snape at school. I reckoned Remus oughta know somethin’ that could help, and _he_ reckoned that these should give you the gist of things. So... er... just check ‘em out. Hopefully it’ll all make more sense once you’ve seen them...”

Hermione gasped. Harry stood there gaping at Dora, stunned into speechlessness, hardly believing it was possible. 

“Er... Thanks!” he croaked, after a moment had passed, numerous emotions flickering across his features. “Thanks loads Dora!”

“Don’t mention it,” Dora said gently, swallowing as she blinked back some tears, seeing the gratitude that Harry was having difficulty giving voice to in his eyes.

**~o0o~**

“Are you _**sure**_ you don’t want to see these alone, Harry?” Hermione asked again as Harry unstoppered the crystal vial and tipped the silvery substance into the Pensieve with shaking hands.

“No! I want you to see them with me. Please!” Harry begged anxiously, peering pleadingly into Hermione’s wetly glistening brown eyes. “I need you to help me understand.”

“If you’re absolutely certain Harry.” Hermione took his hands and gave them a squeeze.

“I am! You’re the only one I know who can really explain what other people are feeling, Hermione, and besides...” Harry gulped, “...besides, if anyone else should, er.... ‘meet’ my parents, it’s you.” 

Hermione melted in his earnest gaze and tilted her head slightly, giving him a sad little smile. 

“Alright Harry. Together then?”

Harry nodded, and together, still holding hands, he and Hermione leaned over until the tips of their noses touched the swirling mist, their faces squashed together a bit, only barely fitting between the sides of the rune covered rim of the Pensieve.

Tumbling through the billowing fog, Harry and Hermione finally came to rest, feet first on the marble floor in the candlelit Great Hall, amidst a crowd of students. As he peered around, Harry was surprised that the Great Hall didn’t look much different, though McGonagall looked much younger. It took Harry a moment to recognise the boy that he and Hermione were standing behind.

“It’s Lupin,” Harry murmured. “But where are my mum and dad?”

“Harry, look. There they are.” Hermione pointed and he saw them. 

Harry felt a shiver of excitement, and something else - something akin to trepidation - when he spotted his father with Sirius... and his mother, Lily, standing next to Snape. Sirius said something that made James nod and snigger. Lily turned and shot them both a glare. It was then that Harry realised it must be the beginning of his mother and father’s First Year. 

Sirius was among the first few students to be sorted. He took a seat at the Gryffindor table and grinned at James. Harry held his breath when McGonagall eventually called out, “Evans, Lily!”

He watched his mother ambling forward, trembling as she sat on the tottery stool. The rumpled Sorting Hat called out, “Gryffindor,” nearly the instant that it touched Lily’s dark red hair. Harry and Hermione both heard Snape groan and caught the wan smile that Lily gave him as she took a seat at the Gryffindor table. 

“I expect he was hoping your mum would be sorted into Slytherin,” Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded. “Looks that way. I don’t know why he’d think she would be though. He had to know the sorting hat would never put a muggleborn in Slytherin.”

“It does seem a bit delusional,” Hermione agreed.

Watching as the other students were sorted, his father eventually joining Sirius to loud cheers as they slapped each other on the back and grinned, Harry remembered how the Hat had given him a choice. He wondered if Snape had considered asking the Sorting Hat to place him in Gryffindor so he could be in the same House as Lily. But when the Hat finally got around to sorting Snape, it seemed highly unlikely as the Hat wasted no time, shouting, “Slytherin,” even quicker than it had sorted Lily into Gryffindor. 

Hermione gasped and Harry scowled to see Lucius Malfoy - apparently a Prefect - welcoming Snape to Slytherin with open arms.

The scene dissolved into another. Harry and Hermione found themselves in the First Year boys’ dorm, where seven boys were readying themselves for bed and chatting. Hermione was thankful to see that they were already in pyjamas, sparing her the embarrassment of watching them change. Sirius looked on a bit haughtily as James asked the mousy, round little boy in pyjamas with threadbare knees who his favourite quidditch team was.

“Chudley Cannons,” Peter Pettigrew squeaked, seeming pleased to be included by the posh looking boy, eyeing James’s gold cuff links enviously. “I want to be on the team some day - be a Keeper. If my parents could afford a broom, I’d consider trying out...” 

Sirius snorted disdainfully. “Those losers? Cannons are bottom of the league nearly every year.”

“So who do you support then, Sirius?” asked James.

“Holyhead Harpies of course,” said Sirius, grinning. “Those witches can fly.”

“How about you? ... Remus Lupin isn’t it?” James asked Lupin, who was sitting on his bed, head buried in a schoolbook, looking like he was trying very much to avoid being noticed. Lupin glanced up, startled. 

“Er... Who? Me?”

“Yeah - you!” 

“Oh... er, I don’t follow quidditch much,” Remus muttered. 

James gave him an odd sort of look, and for a moment Harry wondered if James thought Lupin was a weirdo for not liking quidditch. But James seemed to have noticed something else.

“You alright?” he asked. “You look a bit peaky.”

“Er... I’m fine,” Remus said quickly, averting his eyes.

The scene shifted again. Feeling a bit disoriented, it took Harry a moment to realise that he and Hermione were somewhere outside near the boathouse. It appeared that a few months had passed and was perhaps nearing the Christmas Holidays as patches of snow lay on the ground. Remus was sitting on a boulder, his head buried in a book yet again. Sniggering voices caught their attentions. Remus peered over the top of the page and stiffened. 

Harry was startled to see Snape lurking nearby with two other Slytherins, both of them rather loutish looking. For some reason, after having viewed Snape’s worst memory, Harry had expected Snape to be a bit of a shy, bookish loner like Remus, but Snape’s swagger suggested someone who viewed himself more highly - like Malfoy - despite his tatty robes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the lurgy-boy,” sneered one of Snape’s friends. 

“G...go away. I... I want to be alone,” Remus stammered.

“Why? You contagious?” Snape’s other friend eyed Remus with obvious disgust. 

“Probably a Mudblood disease,” sniggered the first. “Dunno why they even let your sort in to Hogwarts - infecting everyone else with your filth.” 

Remus flushed, but said nothing, no doubt thinking it was better to let them think he was a muggleborn rather than find out he was a werewolf.

“Maybe if he gets lucky, one day Sev will invent a cure...” chortled the second.

“Doubtful!” sneered Snape, a scornful expression on his face. “There is no cure for Mudblood... if that is indeed his affliction.” Snape narrowed his eyes, chewing his lower lip pensively, as if studying Lupin.

“Well, there is one spell that might cure him...” said the first pointedly, retrieving his wand from his robes. “You’re lucky I don’t know that one yet, Mudblood. But maybe this one...”

“Oi... Leave him alone,” a voice called out. Harry and Hermione spun around, spotting James and Sirius standing on the rise near a copse of pines, both with their wands drawn. 

“Or what?” snorted Snape. “There’s three of us and only two of you.”

“Or we’ll make you,” said James, grinning. “You sure three is enough to take us on, Snivellus?” 

“Either one of us could take all three of you pathetic losers on with one arm tied behind our backs,” taunted Sirius. “Maybe you should get three more, and then it would be even.”

“Perhaps they need a little demonstration,” said James, giving his wand a little flick.

Harry wasn’t entirely certain who fired the first spell, Snape or James, but all of a sudden the hillside near the boathouse lit up with jets of light and bolts of lightning. Sparks burst from ricocheting spells as they flew through the air and hit trees. But despite dodging and weaving, it appeared that nearly everyone was hit by spells at least once. 

Having sprouted a cottontail and bunny ears, Snape apparently decided enough was enough and he and his fellow Slytherins - one with a face full of tentacles, and the other covered with yellow feathers - quickly fled the scene. James groaned, staggering to his feet, wincing as he touched the painfully blistering boils on his face.

“That fucking prick,” James muttered. “He used Dark Magic on me.”

“You and me both,” gasped Sirius, who was nursing a limp arm. “He hit me with a Bone Breaking Curse. How the hell does a little twirp like him already know a Bone Breaking curse in First Year?” 

“I... I’m sorry,” said Lupin in a small voice, looking aghast. “Really, you needn’t have stuck up for me. I’m not worth it...”

“Don’t be stupid,” said James kindly. “I don’t mind if you’re muggleborn... and you could have lycanthropy for all I care,” he added pointedly, raising his eyebrows. 

“Wh...what?” gasped Lupin, reddening. “I... I’m not a... a werewolf.”

“Sure you’re not.” Despite his pain, Sirius smirked. “We’re not stupid. ... Getting ill and disappearing from our dorm for three nights every full moon the last three months? What else could it be?”

“You don’t have to keep trying to push us away,” said James. “We think it’s cool that you’re a werewolf!”

“But... but I’m a monster!” Lupin muttered, casting his eyes down.

“Nonsense!” James proclaimed, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve just got a furry little problem is all.”

“And you’re not half bad with that wand,” said Sirius, looking impressed. “Was that Canary-Feather Jinx yours?”

Lupin nodded.

“Nice one!” said James. “Come on, Remus, don’t be so mopey all the time. Hang out with us.” 

“You... you really want to be friends with me?” 

“Yeah, we do!” James asserted firmly.

“What he said,” Sirius agreed.

Remus glanced back and forth between his two dorm-mates uncertainly, his hesitation wavering. Harry could almost see the war going on in Remus’s brain between multiple sides - his disbelief that anyone might actually like him - his feelings of fear and guilt for being a dangerous monster - and his desire to not be alone anymore.

Finally, it appeared that Remus’s longing for friendship won out.

“Okay,” he said, nodding and smiling tentatively. “Alright then. I’d like that. Now maybe we should get you two to the hospital wing...”

The memory faded and the next thing Harry and Hermione knew, they were in the Gryffindor common room. From the Christmas Decorations, they surmised that very little time had passed, maybe a few hours, maybe a few days. Harry’s heart lurched, seeing his mother again, bearing down on James Potter.

“Is it true?” she asked sharply, glaring at him. “Did you hex Severus and turn him into a rabbit?”

Sirius sniggered. 

“What? He actually told you?” James raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t reckon Snape for a tattler.”

“No! I saw him with bunny ears and a tail, and he wouldn’t tell me what happened,” Lily snapped. “But after you turned Mallory’s hair purple and green the other day, I figured it was probably you.”

“Mallory should be thanking me,” said James, grinning. “It’s a fashion statement. You’ll see - in a few years everyone will be dyeing their hair non-traditional colours.”

“Gah! That’s not the point!” Lily fumed. “I’m talking about Severus. Why do you keep picking on him?”

“I dunno. Because he’s about as Slytherin as a Slytherin can get, I guess,” James scratched his head, looking puzzled. “What’s _with_ you Evans? What do you even see in him?”

“He’s my friend!” said Lily, her voice shrill. “Leave him alone!” she shouted before turning on her heel, her long hair whipping as she whirled around and stalked off.

“Hmm... I think I like her,” said Sirius roguishly. 

“Oi... I saw her first,” James retorted. 

Remus rolled his eyes. “No you didn’t. Snape did, apparently.”

“That’s the other thing I don’t get.” James scowled. “What does _Snape_ see in _her?_ I thought he hated muggleborns. _**I**_ don’t hate muggleborns... shouldn’t Evans like me more than him?” 

Sirius shrugged. “No accounting for taste, mate...”

The next memory was almost as brief as the last, but it accounted for how Peter had also become friends with James and Sirius. James, Sirius, and Remus were all out for a stroll, and it looked like Spring somewhere near the lake as a group of starlings flew overhead calling out to each other. 

Voices could be heard coming from the other side of some bushes. When his father and Sirius and Remus poked their heads round the corner to see what was going on, Harry and Hermione followed suit.

Harry began to fume at Snape’s utter hypocrisy, seeing him once again - along with his two stalwart Slytherin pals - bullying someone, this time in a very familiar manner. Snape had his wand out and Peter was dangling upside down in the air by one ankle squeaking fearfully as the Slytherins’ laughed uproariously at him. 

“Good one Sev!” said the larger of Snape’s two friends, grinning. 

“That’s brilliant!” chortled the shorter of Snape’s two friends. “I haven’t seen that one before.”

“I just invented it,” Snape said boastfully. “The incantation is Levicorpus...”

“Is that so?” James stepped out from behind the bush, his wand at the ready. “Thanks for the tip, Snivellus.”

“Potter!” Snape spat venomously, his narrowing eyes darting towards Sirius and Lupin who emerged from the bushes to join James. 

“Avery and Mulciber are right - that looks like fun,” said James coolly. “Can I give it a go too? Which one of you wants it first? How about you, Snivellus? Fancy a dangle at the end of your own spell?”

“Maybe next time,” Snape sneered, releasing the spell. Peter Pettigrew crumpled to the ground, whimpering. “You can have your mascot back for now. Don’t know why you’d want him really - he’s not much of a Gryffindor. Makes a great lab-rat though...”

The Slytherins stalked off, leaving James, Sirius, and Remus to finally make proper friends with Peter, who was bountiful in his gratitude. Harry and Hermione gaped at each other in surprise.

“Harry,” gasped Hermione, “Levicorpus - that’s one of the spells...”

“...in the Prince’s book,” Harry muttered angrily. “Snape must be the Half-Blood Prince. I can’t believe it - all this time I’ve been making excuses for the Prince, but you were right Hermione - he _was_ a nasty, horrid person. And to think I felt bad for my dad bullying Snape too, when it was Snape’s own spell to begin with, and Snape used it to bully people as well...”

Harry didn’t have time to continue seething; the scene changed again. This time a few years had apparently passed - if Harry had to guess, it looked like some time in Fourth Year - and he and Hermione were drawn to a girl crying in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, being consoled by several others - one of them his mother. Lupin was the only other one in the common room, ostensibly studying, but he was listening in with one ear, looking troubled.

“Mary, _please_ tell us what happened,” Lily beseeched, for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. 

The girl named Mary wavered, flushing with shame; finally she nodded.

“It... it was Mulciber,” she sobbed. “He imperiused me - m...made me strip down to my bra and knickers in front of his friends. He... he was going to make me take it _all_ off, b...but then Peeves showed up and started making a racket, so he stopped and they all ran off before they could get caught.”

“Who else was with him? Was one of them Snape?” asked one of the other girls, shooting a dirty look at Lily. 

Mary bit her lip, not able to look Lily in the eye, and nodded. “Y...yeah, Avery and Snape were with him. S...Snape just stood by and watched while Avery egged Mulciber on. I... I’m sorry Lily, I know Snape’s your friend, but I d...don’t get what you see in him. He calls me Mudblood every time he gets an opportunity - he calls nearly _**every**_ muggleborn Mudblood - he’s absolutely horrible!”

Her cheeks turning crimson, Lily couldn’t look Mary in the eye either, clearly noting that Mary had refrained from pointing out that Lily was the only muggleborn to be spared the hateful word by Snape.

“I’m sorry,” Lily mumbled. “It... it’s just... it’s because of his muggle father. His dad hates magic and treats him and his mum badly for being magical... I think he used to beat Severus sometimes, before he started Hogwarts...”

“So _that’s_ it,” sighed the girl who had given Lily a dirty look, rolling her eyes. “Now I understand! You feel sorry for him and you think you can save him from himself, and convince him to change his ways, don’t you? ... You’re just fooling yourself, Lily. If Snape hasn’t changed after three and a half years at Hogwarts, it’s too late for him. You should ditch him before he gets the chance to hurt you too...”

The portal to the common room opened, and three boys entered. The girls quieted, then headed up the stairs to their dormitory, apparently deciding to look after Mary with a bit more privacy. Remus glanced at James, Sirius, and Peter, indecision on his face. 

When the scene shifted again, and Remus had still said nothing, Harry and Hermione both reckoned he had kept the exchange with Mary to himself, not willing to give James or Sirius a reason to retaliate and go after Snape. 

Harry didn’t know exactly what to feel now, after hearing that Snape’s father had probably beaten him like Uncle Vernon had hit Harry. But from all the available evidence, Harry knew intellectually that the girl who had admonished his mother was right. It was too late for Snape at this point.

The next memory seemed as if it were only days later; James and Sirius were arguing following the incident in which Sirius had supposedly pranked Snape, and Mary MacDonald had come up. Somehow the story of what had happened to her had made the rounds, even though Remus hadn’t said anything. 

Indeed, Remus was studiously avoiding getting in the middle of the argument himself, sitting miserably by himself in a corner of a decrepit room with peeling wallpaper, and cracked, splintery floorboards, which could only be in the Shrieking Shack, listening to two of his friends fighting. Peter was nowhere to be seen, having probably fled as soon as the fight began.

“How _**could**_ you?” James shouted at Sirius. “You know what could have happened if Snape had actually run into Remus last night!”

“I’m sick of that greasy little Slytherin stalking us, trying to get us in trouble,” Sirius snapped. “He’d worked out that Remus was a werewolf, same as we did, and he was determined to expose his condition and get him expelled - or maybe worse...” he added darkly.

“And that’s exactly what might have happened if Snape had made it all the way down the tunnel,” James retorted angrily. “Snape could’ve been killed, and Remus would’ve been kicked out.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Sirius shot back heatedly. “I didn’t _**make**_ Snape go down that damn tunnel - he’s been trying to get in here for months, knowing _**exactly**_ what he’d find! All I did was tell him how to get past the Whomping Willow if he really wanted to see where Pomfrey was taking Remus. Snape would have worked that bit out for himself just as easily eventually.

“So it would’ve been his own damn fault if he got killed. ... And I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if Snape had. I heard what happened to Mary MacDonald the other day from one of her friends, and Snape was in on that too - they probably would’ve raped her if Peeves hadn’t showed up. 

“ _ **That’s**_ who you just saved - a little prick who’s planning to join Voldemort and murder and torture and rape muggles and muggleborns! For all you know, that could be Snape’s plan for Lily Evans eventually! How would you feel if that happened, knowing you could have prevented it?”

James swallowed, paling. He looked conflicted for a moment, then he shook his head.

“Look, Snape’s a rotten bastard to everyone else, but he’s never treated Evans like that. For some reason he seems to like her. And anyway, we can’t stoop to his level - we might as well become Dark wizards too if we’re going to take it _that_ far. We’re not Slytherins - we’re Gryffindors - we’re better than that!”

That seemed to take the wind out of Sirius’s sails. He bit his lip, looking slightly abashed. Then he shrugged.

“Maybe you’re right, James. I still wouldn’t care if Snape had tripped himself up, if he’s stupid enough to think he could take on a werewolf, but yeah, I probably should have just left him to find out for himself - hoist himself on his own petard - instead of making it easier for him. I’m sorry, alright? ... Still friends?” 

James nodded and grinned, deflating. “Of course we are...”

Most of the next few memories were pleasanter by and large, some of them depicting James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter involved in fairly harmless escapades, discovering the secret tunnels, inventing the Marauder’s Map to sneak out, getting detentions for minor pranks, the worst of which reminded Harry of the swamp that the Twins had created during Umbridge’s reign at Hogwarts. 

Somehow, James, Sirius, and Remus had between them managed to turn the Transfiguration classroom into a sunny tropical beach, palm trees and all, with an inlet of seawater during a particularly sweltering late Spring day. Professor McGonagall had been so impressed by the skills demonstrated, that instead of giving them detention, she gave the class the rest of the day off to enjoy the beach.

All the students had been delighted and changed into swim gear to make the best use of the fake seashore. Harry tried not to peer too closely at his mother, who was sporting a two piece bikini. But he couldn’t help noticing that even she was stealing admiring glances at James - though that might have been as much due to James’s trim physique, on full display in his swimming trunks, as it was to his prowess with a wand - then blushing and quickly looking away when James grinned back at her.

Harry noticed her shooting the occasional appreciative glance at James during quidditch matches too, often with Snape nearby looking on jealously. Though every time James acted a bit of a fool, showing off with the Snitch he had stolen following the matches, hoping to impress her, Lily had huffed angrily and marched the other way, sometimes with Snape. 

Snape shot insufferably smug looks at James after such incidents. But Harry and Hermione both noticed Lily’s friends steering her away from Snape on more than one occasion, as they whispered in her ear and shot dirty looks back at Snape. Manoeuvring closer, they overheard, “...called her Mudblood again...” escape one of the girls’ lips. 

The memories weren’t all fun and games though. Snape was even more determined to get one up on James, apparently having decided that by saving him from werewolf Lupin, James was somehow even more to blame than Sirius for “pranking” him. The skirmishes grew even more intense, though James and Snape had both got better at dodging spells. 

Snape barely missed James with an unknown spell which explosively shattered a statue of Giardano Bruno, while James’s Babbling Jinx hit a hapless passing Hufflepuff instead. Snape and his goons somehow vanished just as Filch arrived, and James and Sirius and Lupin ended up doing detention for both the statue and the Hufflepuff. 

Then came a memory which made Harry’s blood run cold. He didn’t think he could bear to see it again. He and Hermione were standing in the Great Hall, and the House tables had been replaced with a hundred or more individual desks. Except this time, it was Lupin that Harry was overlooking, instead of Snape.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Harry, they’re taking OWL’s. Is this when...?”

“Yeah,” Harry growled, “except I suppose we’re seeing it from Remus’s point of view.” 

Harry couldn’t watch again and left Hermione to it. She cringed as she witnessed how horribly James had treated Snape in that particular instance, for no particular reason that was readily apparent. But she frowned when Snape used a familiar looking spell on James during the incident, gashing James's cheek.

“Sectumsempra,” Hermione hissed. Then the memory continued as Harry had recalled, with his father reasserting his dominance and Lily eventually departing in a furious huff after Snape called her a “filthy little Mudblood” and James tried to make him apologise.

“If it’s any consolation Harry,” said Hermione after Lily Evans had stormed off, squeezing Harry’s hand comfortingly as they wandered away from the immediate scene, closer to the lake, “given the horrible things we know that Snape and his friends got up to - and how he was always trying to get your father and Sirius in trouble - it’s understandable that your father eventually went a bit overboard when Snape didn’t have Avery and Mulciber around to back him up.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” muttered Harry. “I still don’t think it was right though.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Hermione agreed. “But even though I probably would have tried to stop you, if that had been you instead of your father, it’s hard to argue that Snape didn’t have it coming.”

“You... you really think so?” Harry peered at Hermione earnestly.

“ _Yes,_ Harry!” Hermione reached out and gently caressed Harry’s cheek. “You don’t have to feel guilty for something you didn’t even do yourself, especially when the person your father did it to was a bully himself - a viciously racist bully. Everything Sirius and Lupin told you about what Snape was like during school is true.

“Your mother never really saw what Snape and his friends got up to. She only heard a bit about it secondhand from friends who had been on the receiving end of their abuse. If Snape had been more obvious about it in front of her, I expect she would have ditched him... Which she probably did after he finally called her Mudblood. It looked like she’d finally had enough of him to me.”

Harry smiled gratefully, feeling the tension in his gut melt away and a weight lift from his shoulders. If Hermione didn’t think his father was rotten, after bearing witness to the memory, it had to be true. 

“Thanks Hermione,” he murmured, pulling her closer for a kiss. “You don’t know how much better that makes me feel. D’you think my mum was alright with my dad then, after all?”

“Well, it’s obvious she fancied him a bit, even if she did think he was a conceited prat,” said Hermione. “And I can’t be entirely certain, but I think some of her anger at James at the end there was at herself, for being so blind about how far gone Snape was. That’s why she lashed out at Snape too after he called her Mudblood, and left James to it...” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught the crowd dispersing. She and Harry both glanced back at the scene to see that James had thankfully not removed Snape’s underwear, but had instead left Snape swaddled in voluminous reams of fabric, giving himself a chance to depart without any further escalation. 

When Remus and Peter trailed after James and Sirius, Harry and Hermione braced themselves for a new memory. Harry recognised the new surroundings instantly; the hospital wing was all too familiar to him. He thought they might be in sixth year now, as the light spilling through the windows looked cold and wintry.

“Again Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey frowned as she dabbed at the nasty looking gash on James’s forearm with a cotton swab laced with Essence of Dittany. “This is the third time in as many months I’ve seen you with a tainted wound...” She glanced at Remus, perplexed and worried, then at Sirius and Peter, who were both doing their best to look a picture of innocence, before shaking her head as if to dismiss the idea. 

Unlike Remus, Sirius, and Peter, who were all on the opposite side of the hospital bed, Harry and Hermione were close enough to Pomfrey to hear her mutter, “Wrong time of the month,” under her breath. They watched as the injury sealed over when Pomfrey waved her wand and murmured an incantation. 

Hermione bit her lip and Harry looked a bit puzzled as they peered at the skin of James’s arm. Usually when Pomfrey healed scrapes and cuts, the spell left the skin smooth and unblemished.

“It looks like you have a new scar to add to the list, Mr Potter,” said Pomfrey severely. “I don’t know what you’re getting up to, but it needs to stop.”

“It wasn’t his fault...” Sirius growled, giving James a glare, almost as if to urge him to fess up. James glowered back and Sirius shut up.

“Hmm... indeed.” Pomfrey arched one eyebrow cannily as she regarded the four troublemakers in her infirmary. “Well, that’s the best I can do, Potter,” said sharply. “As before, I must warn you to be cautious for the next few days, lest you open that wound up again. Please try not to run into any more Dark spells before you heal completely from this one.” 

James gulped, clearly hoping that Pomfrey continued to hold patient confidentiality in high regard. When she stood up abruptly and returned to her office, James took Pomfrey’s diktat as a dismissal. Harry and Hermione followed as the inventors of the Marauders’ Map departed from the hospital wing. Almost as soon as they had passed through the entrance of the infirmary, Peter began to hector James.

“I don’t know why you don’t just tell her...” 

“Because I’m not a snitch...” said James, who seemed to be struggling to keep his patience, as if they’d had this argument more than once.

“But it’s Snivellus,” Peter whined. “And you didn’t even start it...”

“But at least he finished it,” said Sirius, suddenly grinning. “That greasy git won’t be showing his face while that beak he calls a nose is thrice the size and gushing like a fountain - nice one James!”

“Snivellus was snotting all over himself,” sniggered Peter. Remus frowned.

“Just a minor Engorgement charm to start, with a dash of Endless-Bogey hex thrown in for good measure,” said James with a false air of modesty which gave way to a flicker of shame. “Anyway, Snape’ll be back to normal in a few hours...”

“And you won’t be back to normal for a few days,” Sirius interjected pointedly, the grin fading. “You should’ve opened with the Endless-Bogey hex, instead of the Big-Nose jinx, after Snivellus’s tripping jinx on the stairway. If you’d fallen down the stairs like he obviously hoped, you could’ve cracked your skull open and died.”

“I was trying not to escalate things,” said James, glancing at Remus, who still hadn’t said a word.

“Tell that to Snivellus,” Sirius snorted. “D’you think he gives a damn whether you stick to jinxes and hexes? No! He’s a Junior Death Muncher - him and his little gang. He’s trying to murder you - the tripping jinx didn’t do it, so he upped the ante and used that blasted Dark cutting curse of his on you again...”

“Sectumsempra,” Remus muttered, speaking up for the first time. “Sirius is probably right, James,” he added, looking conflicted. “If you hadn’t got your arm up in the nick of time, that gash would have been across your throat. Maybe you should have just gone for the Endless-Bogey hex to begin with.”

James looked disconcerted for a moment. If Remus was agreeing with Sirius...

“Look, maybe I should’ve reacted with stronger hex instead of a jinx to begin with, but Evans is right!” sighed James. “I can’t go around being a giant prat forever. If I’m going to be an Auror, I need to start acting like life isn’t just one big joke. Voldemort is out there right now, murdering and torturing muggles and muggleborns - like Lily - and I’ve wasted five years pranking people over minor annoyances and idiocies.”

Peter winced at the use of the Dark Lord’s name but James ignored him and barreled on.

“If I want to be taken seriously, I need to get my act together, and if that means giving people the benefit of the doubt - even prejudiced dungheaps like Snape and his mates - then so be it. How can I be any better if I act just as rotten as those arseholes? Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to tell us the last five and a half years, Remus?” 

“That’s very true,” said Remus, nodding. Then he sighed. “But I would be lying if I said you and Snape were ever really just the same. Yeah, last year during OWL’s, you took it too far... you were way out of line when you went for Snape, and I should’ve said something then - tried to stop you. But I didn’t! 

“And I didn’t because you’ve always stuck up for me, and stuck up for Peter, when Snape and his mates were harassing _**us!**_ I... I suppose I’ll always feel guilty for letting what you did to him slide, but by the same token, I honestly can’t say you’ve ever really been like him and his lot...”

As the memory shifted again, Hermione gave Harry a wan smile, as if to say, “I told you so,” in the kindest way possible. The scene that greeted them next was festive, the Gryffindor common room emblazoned with Christmas decorations once more. 

Lily was giving James a funny look as he toasted his friendship with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, with what was apparently “Slughorn’s famous eggnog.” Harry couldn’t help recalling Slughorn’s spiked eggnog as being one of the better things from his own experience at a Slughorn Christmas party not so long ago, despite trying to wipe that horrible night from his memory.

Remus spotted Lily staring at them, and pointedly drew Sirius and Peter from the fire to look at something on the Christmas Tree. Sirius caught on quickly and gave James a roguish wink as Remus dragged him and Peter away; James rolled his eyes, muttering something about “...a snowball’s chance in hell,” under his breath.

James turned back around, startled to see that Lily had indeed taken the opportunity to approach him. The orange flames of the fire sparkled in Lily’s green eyes, which James seemed to notice. For once, James actually looked slightly nervous around Lily.

“There’s something different about you this year,” said Lily. “Well, it’s more noticeable now than it was at the beginning of the school-year, anyway.”

“I’m even better looking than I was last year?” James quipped, grinning.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Or maybe not, after all.”

“Er... sorry Lily,” said James, with a sincere look of contrition. “Force of habit. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, if you must know.”

“Trying to win brownie points with me, are you?” said Lily, smiling wryly. James chuckled.

“Actually, I want to be an Auror after Hogwarts, and I reckon it’ll be easier if I don’t have so many detentions under my belt. ... But if it wins me a date with you, that’s a bonus I wouldn’t sneeze at.”

“Hmm... no promises. But I like this version of James Potter. Keep it up, and who knows?” Lily lifted her own cup of heavily spiked eggnog. “Cheers! Happy Christmas James!”

“Cheers Lily! Merry Christmas,” said James, taking a sip of his own eggnog. He looked slightly disbelieving, but there was a renewed spark of hope in his eyes as Lily sauntered back across the common room to rejoin her friends. He turned to look at his chums and Sirius flashed him a thumbs up and another wink...

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione as the Christmas scene faded. She bit her lip and grinned.

“I’d say that was the turning point,” Hermione opined. “Probably why Lupin gave you that particular memory.”

“Really? that was all it took?” said Harry, shaking his head, half-smirking.

“You heard her. Your father would’ve had to have kept it up to really win her over. Let’s see what else happens...” 

As the next memory came into focus, Hermione wasn’t at all surprised to see it taking place in The Three Broomsticks, a much younger Rosmerta behind the bar with a grizzled older man who was possibly her father directing her to some customers. Given the dull, grey light coming through the rain streaked windows, It was hard to tell what time of year it was.

Remus and Sirius were off in a corner of the tavern by themselves. Somehow, Sirius looked a lot less arrogant, more mature; his whole demeanor was different, his eyes gentle, more like the way Harry remembered him when he wasn’t being annoyed by Mrs Weasley or harassed by Adult Snape. And Remus looked about as happy as Harry had ever seen him at his happiest. 

Harry’s eyes darted around the pub, seeking out his father and Peter, and perhaps Lily as well. Surely they were there somewhere. Why else would Remus have given him this memory? 

“Over there Harry,” said Hermione softly when she spotted them, tugging gently on Harry’s sleeve.

Harry caught Hermione’s wistful expression as he turned to look, finally spying his not yet parents sitting in a secluded candlelit booth, on the opposite side of the pub from Sirius and Remus. Peter was nowhere to be seen. Harry was surprised to see James and Lily sitting so close together, holding hands, and wondered how long it had been since the last memory. But now he understood Hermione’s rather sentimental look.

Swallowing, Harry felt a lump in his throat as he and Hermione drew closer to the booth, feeling somehow as if he were invading an intensely private moment, even though he technically wasn’t there at all. If he wasn’t so curious, Harry would have fled right then and there and simply waited for the next memory.

“I don’t really deserve it,” James was saying, looking slightly embarrassed. “It should have been Remus - but he turned it down.”

“Maybe! But Dumbledore wouldn’t have even considered you if you hadn’t really done something to earn it - ” Lily said quietly. “Head Boy, when you weren’t even a Prefect. ... That’s almost unheard of. The last time that happened was over fifty years ago - I looked it up.”

“Er... maybe that’s enough about me.” said James awkwardly. Lily paused, peering soulfully into his eyes for a moment.

“I said last year at Christmas that you’d changed,” said Lily, smiling, not willing to let the subject go just yet, “but since we’ve been dating, I can see now that wasn’t entirely accurate. Who you were before - the braggadocio, the cockiness - _that_ was just for show, wasn’t it? Who you are now - that’s the real you - the you that you’d been hiding from everyone for years. 

“I think I understand now. You always wanted to be the hero, the chivalrous knight, the one who always saves the day, but you didn’t really know how...” 

“Yeah, I guess that’s about the size of it,” James admitted ruefully. “But then I finally figured out that being a hero isn’t always about being the brash knight swooping in on a white horse, clobbering your enemies whenever you get a chance. 

“It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s hard - standing up for people who are being mistreated - even when they’re people you don’t like. You’re the _**real**_ hero, Lily! ... I thought about that a lot that summer after fifth year - what you said when you stuck up for Snape that day. And I didn’t like what I saw in myself - that wasn’t who I wanted to be. 

“You called me a bully, and I couldn’t believe it at first. ... Me, a bully? No way! I was supposed to be _saving_ people from bullies. ... But then I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I knew you were right...”

Lily bit her lip, her eyes flickering down momentarily, looking slightly ashamed.

“Well, maybe you were being a bit of a bully... especially _that_ day at least. But honestly, maybe that was what it took for me to see what I’d been pretending not to see for ages - that my best friend was a bully himself. I... I couldn’t admit to myself that he’d chosen his path long before, and it wasn’t a good one...”

“Hey, look at me,” James reached out his hand to gently lift Lily’s chin and look again into her startlingly green eyes. “There’s still a chance he’ll come around and turn out alright some day. ... I never could figure him out - why you were the only muggleborn Snape liked. But the only thing that makes sense to me now is that there must be some good in him somewhere - for him to see the goodness in you.”

Lily’s breath quickened, and then without warning she leaned in and kissed James. As the kiss grew more impassioned, Harry turned away, unable to look anymore, his face wet with tears. 

Hermione smiled sadly at him and pulled him closer for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. When she finally released Harry, the scene had changed once again, to what was surely the last memory in the sequence.

This one Harry recognised from photos given to him by Lupin and Hagrid - the Potters’ wedding...


	18. The Dubious Plan

For a while, Harry sat in silence, Hermione’s arms around him, her bushy head on his shoulder, contemplating what he had witnessed in the Pensieve as he absentmindedly stroked her tawny curls. 

Curious, Hermione watched the strangely neutral expression on Harry’s face. She had thought that witnessing his parents would have given him a sense of closure, putting to rest some of the ghosts which had haunted him ever since he’d seen Snape’s memory the preceding year. 

“What are you thinking about, Harry?” she finally asked. “Missing your parents?”

“Er... no actually,” said Harry, frowning slightly. “Not exactly, anyway. I was actually wondering when Peter Pettigrew turned traitor - or at least started to question which side he should be on. He wasn’t in that memory of my mum and dad at the Three Broomsticks - Sirius and Remus were sitting by themselves...”

“Hmm...”

Harry smiled wryly. “Okay, what’s that ‘hmm...’ for?”

“Well, Peter might have had a reason for not being there,” Hermione answered. “And I suppose he might have started feeling left out of things. Sirius and Remus almost looked like they were on a date themselves...”

“Really?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his messy fringe. “But I thought - the pictures of Muggle pin-up girls in Sirius’s room at Number Twelve - ”

“That might not have meant much in particular - in terms of who he was interested in,” Hermione pointed out. “He could have put up pictures of muggles just to irritate his parents, and of girls only, because he was more afraid of ‘coming out’ to his family as either gay or bisexual than he was of showing disdain for their pureblood beliefs. The wizard world is a lot like the Muggle World in regard to gay men, though it seems to be a bit more accepting of gay women. 

“In any case, the way they were looking at each other - Sirius and Remus - in the Three Broomsticks, it just made me think there was a bit more to their relationship,” Hermione concluded.

“Huh!” said Harry thoughtfully, mulling over Hermione’s observation. “You might be onto something. Remus did seem awfully happy, about the happiest I’ve ever seen him, and Sirius did sort of have that look in his eye - though I thought it was just because Sirius had mellowed out too, like my dad.”

“Which might have been true,” Hermione agreed. “But that could have been from Remus’s influence if they had started getting closer. I’m not saying I’m a hundred percent certain - it’s just a feeling I got really, from their body language I guess.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, nodding, “I dunno, but the more I think about it, the more I think you might be right. ... That would explain why Peter wasn’t in the Three Broomsticks memory. Maybe you’re right about Pettigrew too - maybe he _was_ starting to feel left out of things. 

“But I’m wondering if there wasn’t a bit more to it too. The way Peter always kind of sucked up to my dad - I’m not sure, but it almost seemed like he wanted to _be_ my dad sometimes in some of the memories - almost like he was jealous, or maybe envious is a better word. But at my parents’ wedding, I’m sure of it, Peter definitely looked jealous.

“For a long time I more or less believed what Pettigrew said to me in the Shrieking Shack - that he joined Voldemort because he was scared of him. But I don’t really think that’s true now, and in retrospect it really _never_ made any sense.

“I mean, why would anyone betray their friends and join the bad guy just because they were afraid of the bad guy? ...especially when you’re being backed up by Dumbledore - the only one Voldy ever really feared. I could see it if Pettigrew had been captured, and was being tortured - anyone can give out under torture. 

“But Pettigrew gave himself up and joined of his own accord without actually being threatened _or_ tortured, by all accounts - including his own. So being afraid seems like a pretty feeble excuse really. I’m beginning to think that Pettigrew figured he stood a better chance of getting rich and getting girls without having to work hard, by sucking up to Voldemort instead. ... He’d be able to get away with anything then.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed pensively; now it was Harry who had got _her_ thinking.

“You know Harry, I think you might be right...”

**~o0o~**

For several days Wormtail continued to explore the tunnel between Hogwarts and Honeyduke’s, both as rodent and as Pettigrew. It was as a rat he found more passages under Hogwarts on the third day of seeking. Wormtail’s whiskers quivered with excitement when he discovered a crack in the ancient stretch of timbers along the side of the tunnel.

He cautiously poked his little head through the crack. Wormtail’s beady black eyes could see nothing in the impenetrable darkness, but his whiskers sensed a slight draft passing through the crack, the change in air pressure indicating that there was a large chamber behind the timbers, rather than sediment and craggy rock. 

Wormtail squeezed his rodent body through the crack and shifted into his human form. Retrieving his wand from a pocket in his overcoat, he lofted it in the air and murmured, “Lumos.” 

Pettigrew’s breath caught as his eyes darted around the dank, musty cavern, slow drips falling from the stalactites above to meet the stalagmites below, glittering in the light from his wand. And in the rocky walls of the underground chamber were five dark openings braced with more ancient timbers. This was it; a nexus, a hub where the tunnels all met before joining up with the main tunnel to Hogsmeade.

Without a doubt, each passage must surely lead to an exit from the castle. It was possible that they were blocked at the other end though, as the entrance to the main tunnel had been so long ago. It was also likely that the tunnels branched further into more passages. There was only one way to be certain; further exploration was required. 

Holding out his wand to light the way ahead, Pettigrew entered the first tunnel on his right. He was not afraid of getting lost - his whiskers and nose would always lead him back...

**~o0o~**

****

****

The rest of March seemed to drag on painfully even as the weather began improving, and Harry grew more impatient as there seemed to be little progress regarding a plan to steal the locket from Minister Umbridge. He had spoken to Dumbledore several times, each time receiving more or less the same answer, that the headmaster was waiting for an opportunity to present itself as he did not want to arouse the suspicions of the Minister or Voldemort. 

It was the beginning of the third week of March when Dumbledore relented and gave Harry an overview of his plan, and some of the problems with it. Harry eagerly followed Dumbledore back to his office alone, as Hermione was helping Neville with his Transfiguration homework. Dora stuck with her, reckoning that Harry was fine on his own for the moment. 

“The basic outline of the plan is relatively simple,” Dumbledore began with a sigh, after he had conjured up a pot of tea and some biscuits for himself and Harry, “which is for us to get close enough to the Minister in an enclosed setting with as few other Ministry officials as possible. Then, for one of us to surreptitiously cast a “Freezing” Charm - which would cause all of those affected to be “paused.” 

“Then we would exchange a fake locket for the original, and unfreeze the Minister and whomever else might be in her immediate vicinity, leaving them none the wiser that any theft had occurred. There are a number of problems with this scenario though. 

“Even if we were _all_ to simply infiltrate the Ministry in disguise, taking the place of Ministry personnel - which is possibly the best approach, though I have not ruled out the use of invisibility cloaks by some of us - one of us would still need a reason to approach Minister Umbridge which would not give her cause for suspicion. She is, after all, despite everything, currently the apparent legitimate head of the Ministry. 

“It is quite possible that one or more of us may be discovered and captured, and that would be disastrous. Therefore I am thus considering that it may be necessary for one of us - namely _**me**_ \- to approach the Minister _un_ disguised, offering myself up for questioning in her ongoing investigation of me. 

“However, as the Freezing Charm is exceedingly difficult to master, it may be best for Tonks to disguise herself as me, leaving me - under an invisibility cloak - to cast the Charm. Then, I would simply take her place as myself, leaving the rest of you to depart the Ministry with the original locket without arousing suspicion, and to destroy it with the sword of Gryffindor upon your return. 

“Once I am reasonably assured that you have all safely got away, I could then “do a bunk” as it were, as I did last year from Hogwarts. Of course, in this scenario, I would not be able to return to Hogwarts, as an arrest warrant would undoubtedly be issued for me. It would be safer for the students and staff to all remain above suspicion of collusion with me, and for Professor McGonagall to assume the role of headmaster in my absence, while I continue orchestrating the Order in exile. 

“Though this plan increasingly appears to be the most workable solution, it obviously leaves us with a whole new set of problems - not the least of which is that you may be targeted for reprisal by the Ministry, on either the Minister’s presumption of your involvement in my escape, or simply because she may see her opportunity to take another run at you without my presence at Hogwarts now that she is Minister. She is, after all, clearly not above manufacturing ‘evidence’ in order to target her enemies. 

“In which case, it is quite possible that you and Miss Granger would also be forced to depart Hogwarts and go into exile to evade arrest and the likelihood of being turned over to Voldemort, if indeed he is behind Umbridge’s ascension to power. This clearly is not an optimal outcome, I am therefore continuing to seek a more satisfactory solution. 

“I fear that the ramifications of any other solution would lead to even more severe outcomes though. If this remains the best option, then it is simply a matter of waiting for just the right moment to offer myself up for ‘interrogation’...” 

Harry departed the headmaster’s office, shaken and none to pleased, to say the least, with Dumbledore’s plan, though he was hard-pressed to think of a better one. When Harry returned, looking very disturbed, Hermione finished her session with Neville. She and Dora retired to their quarters, and Harry gave them the basic outline of the plan. 

“...anyway, maybe we can come up with a better one or tweak it to solve some of the problems if we put our heads together?” Harry concluded uncertainly. 

“Blimey!” Dora moaned. “This is bollocks. So that’s why it’s taking him so long to figure it out...” 

“Professor Dumbledore’s right,” said Hermione, as she tried considering all angles. “The basic plan sounds simple enough - and in any case, it’s not like we didn’t know we’d probably have to get into the Ministry to retrieve the locket from Umbridge. But even assuming nothing goes wrong, the potential outcome of any plan which involves us infiltrating the Ministry presents a complicated new set of problems.” 

“That’s no joke,” Harry sighed. “I dunno though - I can’t really think of a better plan. It’s not very likely we’d be able to catch her off-guard outside the Ministry. She’s probably got undercover Aurors tailing her, on the lookout for anything like that, if she even goes out in public anymore - she’s certainly paranoid enough to do that...” 

“That makes sense,” Hermione agreed, nodding her head. “Now that Umbridge is Minister, she would probably take all sorts of precautions to prevent whatever she or Voldemort did to kidnap or kill Scrimgeour from happening to her.” 

“Yeah... that’s what I would probably do, if I were her,” Dora sighed. “Well, we might as well just get on with things for now. Maybe Dumbledore or one of us can come up with a brainwave before things come to a head...” 

Given the situation, Harry and Hermione did their best to focus on schoolwork and training when not wracking their brains to come up with a different plan which would pass Dumbledore’s muster. They both reckoned that the least they could do was prepare themselves as much as possible for any potentiality - even leaving Hogwarts if that’s what it eventually came down to. 

Harry and Hermione even managed to coax Ron and Lavender, and Neville, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones to participate in several practice sessions in the Room of requirement with them and Ginny, Luna, and Parvati. Between that and the continuing Legilimency and Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore, there was very little free time to be had as Harry studied harder than he ever had before in his other classes too. 

Harry was doing so well, that even though he was three and a half years behind in translating Ancient Runes, his calligraphy and carving skills had nonetheless impressed Professor Babbling. 

“Oh, very well done Mr Potter!” Professor Babbling gushed as she peered over his shoulder during class. Hermione peered over Harry’s other shoulder to have a look for herself. 

“See there, Miss Granger,” Babbling pointed out, “Potter’s line-work and brush strokes are strong and bold, yet he instinctively knows when to employ a subtle, delicate touch. Any Runes he paints or inscribes will be more powerful for it. ... I dare say that Mr Potter is as good as anyone in this current year when it comes to his calligraphy.” 

“I knew you could do it, Harry,” Hermione beamed as Babbling made her way back to her desk. 

“I’m not really sure how,” said Harry, amazed with himself. “I’ve never really done this sort of thing before.” 

“I think it’s a combination of several things Harry - your hand-eye coordination for one thing. Not to mention your ability to visualise - a must in anything artistic - and your natural instinct for any sort of physical activity. It’s why your wand-work is so good; it requires the same sort of skills. ... You’ll be brilliant at Runes when you get to more advanced translations...” 

But Beginning Arithmancy continued to be a struggle for Harry - which Hermione assured him ultimately wasn’t an absolute necessity for him to master to become a great wizard. Harry’s biggest worry was whatever Nott and Crabbe and Goyle were up to, as they carried on their painstaking search through the castle. 

“I don’t like it Hermione,” Harry said one evening over butterbeers in their quarters, scowling. “Someone should be keeping an eye on them, in case they do find some other secret tunnel that we don’t know about.” 

“I agree Harry,” said Hermione. “But we just don’t have time to be following them around constantly. The best you can do is keep tabs on them by watching the Marauder’s Map at intervals.” 

“Is it though?” Harry’s features brightened as a brainwave popped into his frontal lobes. “What about Dobby and Kreacher? They can follow them around and let us know if they find anything...” 

“I’m not sure Harry. Don’t you think that might be taking advantage of them a bit?” 

“Well, I’m not entirely comfortable with it myself, but Kreacher seems to like me now, and you know Dobby won’t mind.” Harry peered at Hermione pleadingly. “It’s important, and if you can think of a better idea, I’m all ears.” 

“No, not really,” Hermione sighed, shaking her bushy head. “And you’re right about it being very important Harry...” 

As Harry had predicted, Kreacher and Dobby had only been too eager to carry out his instructions, though Hermione was quick to remind them to take time to eat and rest. And fortunately as the last week and a half crawled by and April drew nearer, Kreacher and Dobby’s reports on the activities of the three Slytherins indicated their continued lack of success and growing frustration. 

Unfortunately, the _Daily Prophet’s_ reports indicated that Dumbledore was coming under increased scrutiny as the DMLE Inquiry proceeded apace. Dumbledore had already been sacked as Chief Warlock yet again - which had occurred not long after the initial reports of his connections to Grindelwald. And even worse, the DMLE was now investigating his alleged ties to the muggleborn wand thieves the _Prophet_ had been harping on about - Voldemort seemed to have dropped off their radar. 

“It’s ridiculous!” Hermione snapped during breakfast on the first day of the Easter Break, which happened to be on the first of April this year. “They’re obviously just making it all up now!” 

“I bet they’re going to try to build a case that Dumbledore is trying to take over the Ministry,” Harry muttered crossly. “It’s like Fudge all over again, except the last time the DMLE weren’t investigating him. ... Without Madam Bones running the DMLE, Dumbledore is toast.” 

“Well, that’s more or less what Dumbledore is waitin’ for, innit? ... Reckon he’ll probably initiate the plan soon,” Dora said quietly, glancing around the table to make sure no-one was listening; which they weren’t, as Lavender and Ron were paying more attention to each other, having lost interest in the _Daily Prophet’s_ regular attacks on Dumbledore and Harry, and Neville was sitting with Hannah at the Hufflepuff table. 

“What’s Dumbledore waiting for? ... What plan?” 

Dora spun around and groaned, seeing Parvati with Ginny and Luna standing right behind her, holding their own edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Harry rubbed at his scar and sighed. Of course Parvati would be paying attention still, as she had been hanging out more with Ginny and Luna in their off hours. All three were currently the most dedicated members of the DA, showing up to every practice session, and were the most interested in keeping up with Harry and Hermione’s personal lives. 

Harry shot Hermione a questioning look. She shrugged, not sure herself how to handle the situation. Harry sighed again and swiped some bacon with a napkin and a piece of toast. 

“Right then,” Harry muttered at the trio of witches, “Let’s take this somewhere a bit more private.” 

Munching the bacon and toast as he led the way to the Room of Requirement, Harry contemplated how much he could reveal. It wasn’t so much a matter of trust - he knew he could trust them all to keep a secret - as it was not wanting to put anyone in danger, or give Voldemort more chances to discover that they were hunting horcruxes through legilimency should he actually find a way to get into Hogwarts and begin interrogating students. 

By the time they reached the Room of Requirement, and had all sat down on the mat in a circle, Harry hoped he had it worked out, and that Ginny, Luna, and Parvati would just accept that they couldn’t know all the details. 

“So, what’s going on Harry?” asked Ginny, looking a bit worried. 

“Okay, here’s the problem,” Harry began, “The Minister has an artifact that we need to get, which will help us defeat Voldemort, but Voldemort can’t know about it. The only way to get it is to sneak into the Ministry and steal it from Umbridge without her figuring out what we’re doing either. 

“Dumbledore’s plan is to pretend to turn himself in at some point just _before_ the Ministry tries to arrest him... We’re going to go in too, undercover, and steal the artifact while Dumbledore is distracting the Minister. Then he’s going to go on the run to take the Ministry’s attention off the students and the rest of the Professors so that they don’t think anyone at school was involved with Dumbledore’s actions, while Hermione and I, and Dora apparate back to Hogwarts with the Artifact. 

“Dumbledore’s waiting for just the right moment to carry the plan out. ... There’s also a slight chance that Umbridge will try and concoct a reason to arrest me and Hermione too after Dumbledore’s gone, and we’ll have to do a bunk too if she does. That’s it in a nutshell... I really can’t give you all the details.” 

Luna’s eyes turned into saucers and Ginny and Parvati’s jaws dropped. 

“But that’s insane,” said Parvati, “Anything could go wrong.” 

“What if you’re all captured and arrested?” moaned Ginny. “That would be awful!” 

“Don’t think we don’t know that,” Dora chimed in, sighing. 

“It’s risky, but it should work if we’re all careful,” said Hermione. “It’s really the only plan that stands a chance at all.” 

“It’s not a slight probability that you’ll be leaving Hogwarts, is it though? Of _course_ the Minister is going to come after you once Dumbledore’s gone - you’ll _have_ to leave Hogwarts,” Luna said bluntly. “And once you’ve got the artifact, you’re going to fight Voldemort, aren’t you?” 

Harry gulped, sharing a look with Hermione. 

“We’re coming too then, when you leave Hogwarts,” said Parvati insistently. 

“What? ... **No!** ” Harry burst out. “That’s way too dangerous! You’ll be safer here than with Hermione and me...” 

“We’re not letting you two do this alone!” Ginny glared fiercely at Harry. “Not after we helped fight at the Ministry last year, and practiced fighting with you this year.” 

“I agree with Ginny!” said Luna. 

“But this won’t be the same - besides, Dora will be coming with us...” Harry argued, growing frustrated; he should have known they’d try to pull this again. 

Hermione cut in quickly. “You _can’t_ come with us this time, if we have to leave Hogwarts. Harry’s right - this is totally different. You’ll still have the Trace on you for one thing. The Ministry will be able to track your magic...” 

“Not me,” said Parvati. “I turned seventeen in February. And there’s no way I’m being left out of things this time!” 

Harry felt like banging his head on the wall. This couldn’t be happening again. It was bad enough that he’d nearly got everyone killed last year. Hermione groaned, now knowing exactly how Harry had felt when everyone had wanted to help him infiltrate the Ministry before. 

Dora peered at them both, her eyebrows raised, unable to hide the smirk on her face. “I don’t think you’ll be able to stop Parvati, if she really wants to come too, guys. ... But yeah, Luna and Ginny would ‘ave to stay here.” 

“There _must_ be a way around the Trace.” Ginny glowered at Harry and Hermione. “Harry’s not seventeen yet.” 

“That’s because I nicked an emancipation form and a stamp with the Ministry Seal from the Ministry over Christmas,” said Dora. “Once I put Harry’s name on it and stamped it, Harry was free of the Trace. That’s the only way I know of to do it.” 

“But unless you snuck back into the Child Services Department, you must still have the stamp with the Seal then, right?” said Luna, a slightly smug look on her face. 

“Er... _Maybe_ ,” Dora hedged, inwardly groaning, as she had indeed not bothered to risk sneaking back into the CSD. “But even if I did, I don’t have any more forms...” 

“Oh, _that_ shouldn’t be a problem.” Luna smiled serenely. “Daddy’s got some extra emancipation forms at home. He got them years ago after Mum died, and he’s been saving them just in case the Ministry was ever taken over by the Rotfang conspiracy. I’m sure he’d send me two through the school’s Floo network if I poke my head through and ask him.” 

“Blimey!” Harry moaned, covering his face with both hands, feeling defeated. “Then Ron’s going to want to come too, once he finds out you lot are coming with us - he just turned seventeen a few weeks ago. I don’t want to get _all_ of my friends killed.” 

“No he won’t,” said Parvati, grinning. “Lavender’s birthday isn’t till the end of May, so he’ll want to stay here with her. It’s obvious you’re going to have to do your plan any day now, if the news in the _Prophet_ today is any indication.” 

Harry tried to have one last go. 

“Dora, I get that we can’t stop Parvati if she really wants to go with us, but _please_ tell me you won’t stamp Luna and Ginny’s forms,” he begged. “Hermione, help me out here.” 

Hermione felt a bit sick; she looked back and forth between Harry and Dora. 

“I’m not sure Harry,” she said finally, looking stricken. “Maybe we should let Dora decide this one. She’s the only one who’s had enough experience as an Auror to determine if Ginny and Luna are really ready for this.” 

Dora appeared hesitant for a moment, then she shrugged. “I dunno Harry, if they really wanna come with us, why not? They’re both pretty good with fighting spells, thanks in large part to you - better than a lot of Hogwarts graduates - good enough that if they had all the other NEWT level requirements they’d probably qualify for the Auror training programme. 

“And they were at the Ministry last year, fighting Death Eaters. They both held their own by all accounts, and they’ll be even better now after the extra training we’ve been doing recently. ” 

“Mrs Weasley is _**so**_ going to kill me!” Harry groaned. 

“No she won’t - I’ll tell her it’s my fault,” said Luna, beaming. Ginny grinned and gave Luna a hug. 

“See, no problem!” said Ginny smugly. “You’re off the hook, Harry.” 

“You’ll just have to get over it, Harry,” said Parvati. “We’re coming with you lot when you leave Hogwarts, and that’s the end of it.” 

**~o0o~**

It had taken Wormtail longer than he had hoped, weeks of searching in fact, and he grew more desperate by the day. The tunnels did indeed branch into a veritable labyrinth, a network of passages sprawled beneath Hogwarts. He had already found a number of entrances which had long ago been blocked from the other side and began to despair - they were protected by Hogwarts’ magical wards as long as they were closed off.

But Wormtail was nothing if not persistent when he set his mind to something. He would have never been able to locate and restore the Dark Lord to power if not. So Wormtail kept at it, day by day, as Snape had been more than happy to not have to suffer his constant presence, and he had very nearly mapped out the whole underground system by the beginning of April. There were only three tunnels left to explore.

All Wormtail needed was one crack in one of the blocked entrances - just one would be enough to grant access through the wards...


	19. The Fraud Identity

Tentatively, a tiny pink nose poked through the crack, followed by the rest of the rat’s head. Wormtail’s whiskers quivered excitedly. Of course it had to be the very last blocked entrance at the end of the very last tunnel. A rough-hewn staircase carved into the rock had led up from the passage, climbing so high that he was certain it let out somewhere in the castle, at the very least above the second floor.

There he had discovered it behind an ancient stone wall, timbers not quite as ancient blocking the way in - or the way out, depending on which direction one was going. And then he had found a crack which looked too small even for a rat. But like all rodents, Wormtail’s body could conform to even the tightest of spaces and he had squeezed through the crack. 

An enormous (to a rat) statue masked the entrance behind it. Wormtail hugged the stone wall after he emerged from the crack, and now he was inside the castle. Wormtail’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, his beady little eyes darting around the corridor. 

Seeing and smelling nobody, Wormtail risked a bit of reconnaissance, cautiously scurrying along the side of the wall from one statue or suit of armour to another. Finally spying a statue he was sure he recognised, Wormtail decided he was on the third floor. Then he scampered back the way he had come, and slipped through the crack in the timbers, back into the stone passage, and hurried down the staircase.

Finally, after the trek through the tunnel back to Hogsmeade, he emerged from the hidden trapdoor in the cellar of Honeyduke’s and disapparated.

**~o0o~**

Despite her reduced status, as the only Death Eater to have escaped capture following the debacle at the Ministry, Bellatrix still held relatively high standing among the Dark Lord’s inner circle. She marched through Malfoy Manor as if she owned the place, followed by the slightly hunched, paunchy figure with rodent-like features.

Bellatrix rapped her knuckles on the paneled double-doors of a drawing room on the second floor of the Manor.

“Enter,” called out a high, cold voice from within. 

“And what have we here?” the Dark Lord queried upon the entry of Bellatrix and the visitor. Lord Voldemort peered down with his narrowed red eyes from his elaborately carved armchair upon the carpeted dais at the other end of the chamber.

“A visitor my Lord,” said Bellatrix, her tone disdainful, as though she found introducing the rat-like man beneath her, despite his status as a Death Eater. “He claims to have information which he would reveal only to you alone.” 

“Ah... Pray tell, Wormtail, what is so important that you should seek an audience with me, without the presence of Severus?” asked the Dark Lord. Wormtail bowed obsequiously.

“Master - I have found it,” Wormtail replied, eagerness bolstering his confidence. “That which you have been seeking! ... A means to gain entry into Hogwarts unchallenged. For weeks I searched, then I discovered it. There is a hidden passage beneath the castle which leads to a secret entrance. 

“It has long been blocked - perhaps for centuries - but there is a crack in the timbers, and thus a crack in Hogwarts’ defences. Once widened, the protection charms which ward the castle will mean naught, and a team of Death Eaters can infiltrate Hogwarts to do whatever it is you command.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed dangerously upon first hearing that Wormtail had somehow learned of the secret mission. But as Wormtail went on, the Dark Lord’s anger began to give way to a new appreciation for the Rat, his eyes widening in great interest, and no small amount of surprise at the rodent’s dedication.

“Yesss,” hissed the Dark Lord, stroking his chin pensively. “Yes indeed! That is most agreeable to me. It seems that I have misjudged you Wormtail - your loyalty and competence are more worthy than I had surmised. ... It had long been my belief that you sought me out in the Wilds, and restored me only out of fear of those you betrayed. 

“But perhaps it was the courage to fulfill your desires which drove you to find me when no others were willing, in the hopes that I would reward you...”

Wormtail gulped nervously and his face paled at the Dark Lord’s perceptive remarks, wondering if he was about to be punished instead of rewarded for his efforts.

“...Fear not Wormtail,” said the Dark Lord, a thin, cold smile on his lips, “Your avarice is useful to me, a far more admirable motivation than cowardice. I neglected to consider how willing you were to kill, and even to sacrifice parts of yourself in the pursuit of your goals. In so doing, you have taken Power for yourself, and truly earned the Dark Mark which I bestowed upon you. In gratitude for your service, you shall receive the rewards you so richly deserve.”

Then the Dark Lord turned to face an utterly stunned looking Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Ah, Bellatrix, it would appear that of all my servants, Wormtail has demonstrated a worthiness beyond most others. In all of his endeavors in my name, not once has he failed me...”

“And what of me, my Lord?” Bellatrix responded quickly. “Have I not served you well? It was Lucius’s failures at the Ministry which were his undoing. Of all those present, it was I who killed the Blood Traitor Sirius Black, and it was only I among them who eluded capture. ... And while I languished in Azkaban during your years in exile to prove my fealty to you, it was Lucius and the others who denied you to maintain their freedom.” 

“Quite so, Bellatrix,” Voldemort agreed after a pause while considering the veracity of her words, and pleased to see the hint of fear in her visage. “You have served me well enough in any case. And to prove your worthiness to remain among my top lieutenants, you shall lead the raiding party to take Hogwarts and rid me of that meddling fool once and for all, at the very least expelling him. 

“Prepare yourself, and choose wisely those who shall accompany you in taking Hogwarts. And do not fret that the Ministry will interfere. ... Severus has done well to recruit Dolores - the new Minister serves me freely, of her own accord, and the Aurors will now do _**my**_ bidding. 

“I have considered the possibility that Dumbledore may escape our clutches yet again - however, should Dumbledore continue to evade us once forced out of Hogwarts, he shall have nowhere to turn with the Ministry on his tail as well as my own soldiers. This time it is _**he**_ who will be the one forced into exile, as once was I. Now go!”

“Yes Master,” said Bellatrix, inwardly sighing with relief. “Dumbledore will either fall, or be banished from Hogwarts. I shall not fail you!”

“See that you do not!” the Dark Lord warned. “Now send in Draco - he and Severus will be both be returning to Hogwarts with you.”

Bellatrix departed the Dark Lord’s chamber, determined to prove herself. Moments later, at her bidding, Draco entered the drawing room. Draco was surprised to see an ebullient Wormtail at the Dark Lord’s side. Rarely had Draco seen the man, and by all indications, the Dark Lord had treated Wormtail with disdain on those occasions.

“Master, you sent for me?” said Draco, much more confidently than he had those months ago following his dismissal from Hogwarts.

“Indeed I did, Draco,” the Dark Lord replied. “Your training has gone well, and now you shall have your chance to return to Hogwarts and put it to use against your enemies. Granger and Weasley - Potter’s friends - I want them in chains, and they shall be yours to do with as you please, but not before such a time as I command you to do so.

“But Potter belongs to me. When he is taken, I want him alive...”

**~o0o~**

It was a Thursday, nearly the beginning of the Easter Holidays when Dumbledore summoned Harry and Hermione to his office after classes had let out for the day. Accompanied by Dora, the pair were sitting before the headmaster’s desk as the portraits pretending to be sleeping watched and listened with great interest.

After taking a sip of tea, Dumbledore peered intently over the top of his half-moon spectacles at the trio.

“Well, here we all are,” he began. “I have called for you in order to make final preparations, and last minute adjustments to the plan. Kingsley Shacklebolt has informed me that the Minister intends to send Aurors to bring me in for questioning Saturday morning. Therefore, we shall of course be going to the Ministry Friday evening. 

“No doubt the Minister will have already gone home for the day, but she will no doubt be eager to return when she learns of my arrival. And there will be less Ministry personnel for us to contend with, thus increasing the odds in our favour. Given the circumstances, Harry, I have determined that it might be best for you and Miss Granger not to return to Hogwarts at all. 

“I do not wish to give the Minister the opportunity to send in Aurors on Saturday to bring you in once I am no longer at Hogwarts to protect you. So before we actually go to the Ministry, we will be making a stop at Number Twelve and dropping off the sword of Gryffindor. Once you and Miss Granger and Tonks are safely out of the Ministry with the Locket, you will return to Number Twelve and destroy it with the sword.

“There you will stay until further notice. I will contact you the moment I reach safety at one of the Order’s other safehouses. ... I will be far too busy coordinating the efforts of the Order to remain in Number Twelve myself - and I feel that you will be safer there. The less people who have access to it, the better...”

“Er... About that,” Harry tentatively interjected, swallowing anxiously, hoping Dumbledore wouldn’t get cross, “There actually might be a few others joining us - they insisted, and it was hard to say no, as they’d already made arrangements to get rid of their Traces...”

“I take it Mr Weasley will be joining you then?” said Dumbledore, a twinkle returning to his eye.

“Actually, no,” said Harry. “Parvati, Ginny, and Luna Lovegood will be coming with us too. Seeing as we’ll be stopping at Number Twelve first, that actually works out perfectly! ... They can stay with the sword of Gryffindor until we get back.”

“Hmm... I must confess that I am reticent to bring them along, Harry.” Dumbledore pensively stroked his beard, looking rather dubious. “Miss Patil, I can understand, as she is of age, and capable of making her own decisions...”

“The thing is,” said Hermione apologetically, to save Harry from having to bear the entire burden of responsibility, “Luna had her father send her two emancipation forms for herself and Ginny...”

“...And as I’m still a Ministry official,” Dora chimed in, owning up to her part in things, “and I still ‘ave the Ministry Seal I nicked from the Department of Child Services, I signed and stamped their forms. They’re both as Trace free as Harry now. 

“And they’re both well trained in fighting spells sir, thanks to bein’ part of the D.A. last year, and practicing with us this year - as good as many post-Hogwarts applicants for the Auror Office. I swear...” 

“They’re brilliant!” Harry added.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and rubbed his crinkled forehead, sighing wearily.

“Well, if I know Xenophilius, I cannot say that I am too surprised that he agreed to this,” said Dumbledore. “Ginny Weasley’s mother is another matter altogether. I rather doubt that she will be pleased with this arrangement. ... However, what’s done is done - Miss Weasley will have to bear the consequences of her decision herself if she indeed joins you in exile. 

“In any case, due to the circumstances, in order to limit access to Number Twelve, I am making you Secret Keeper, Harry. Too many Order members currently have access to Number Twelve, as I gave the address to many when it was our headquarters. This is the best way I know of to limit your exposure to any potential turncoats in our midst.

“Another adjustment I have made to the plan, is that I have retrieved a number of Basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets, to be used as a backup, should the sword of Gryffindor become unavailable for any reason. ... Finally, last but certainly not least, I have something for each of you, and I have enough for Miss Weasley, Lovegood, and Patil as well...”

Professor Dumbledore reached into his desk and retrieved six envelopes, passing them to Dora, who handed one to Harry and another to Hermione. Harry gasped when he opened his envelope.

“Is this a two-way mirror?” he asked. “I thought they were really rare.”

“Indeed they are, Harry. However, upon Sirius’s death, his mirror came into my possession. I know you already have the other one Harry...”

“Er... actually, I broke mine,” Harry confessed, his face reddening.

“Then it is a good thing I reverse engineered the charms with which the mirrors were enchanted, and crafted more last week,” said Dumbledore, the hint of a twinkle returning to his eyes. “It seemed that they would come in quite handy for key members of the Order to stay in communication with each other instantly if necessary. These have the added bonus of keeping ‘messages,’ should the recipient of the mirror call not be immediately available.”

“Oh, they’re a bit like mobile phones then,” said Hermione, her eyes widening as she examined her mirror, “except you can actually see the person you’re talking to on these.”

“Quite so, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied. “Now, if there are no further questions, please meet me in my office tomorrow after classes...”

After the meeting with Dumbledore, Harry went looking for Ron to give him a heads up, expecting to find him snogging Lavender somewhere. But eventually he found Ron flying around the quidditch pitch, Lavender watching from the stands. Harry waved him down.

“Hey, what’s up Harry?” said Ron, grinning and ruffling his hair with one hand as he lit upon the lawn of the pitch.

“Er...” Harry glanced around the pitch to make sure no one else was listening. “Okay, look, I reckoned you ought to know something so you don’t freak out later when I’m gone...”

“ _Gone_ , what d’you mean, gone, Harry?” Ron peered at his friend, bewilderment written all over his face. Harry took a deep breath.

“I mean I’m leaving Hogwarts tomorrow after classes - Hermione too - and I don’t know when I’ll be back...”

“Bloody Hell!” swore Ron, gaping at Harry. “Why?”

“Because it looks like the Ministry is about to try and arrest Dumbledore Saturday morning, and Dumbledore thought it would be safer for me and Hermione if we both left tomorrow so that Umbridge can’t get her hands on us when he’s gone.”

“Blimey!” Ron groaned. “Of course she would! I bet Umbridge can’t wait for a chance to nab you.” 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, nodding. “There’s a bit more to it, but I really can’t tell you - it’ll be safer if you don’t know. There’s another thing I have to tell you though, because I don’t want you to worry when you don’t see her around, Ginny’s coming too - Luna and Parvati as well. I couldn’t really stop them - you know how they get... like last year when we got into the Ministry.”

“Crap!” said Ron, his face falling. “Yeah, I could see that. Maybe I should come too...”

“I thought about that, to tell you the truth. But I reckoned you’d probably want to stay here with Lavender.”

“Oh! Good point. But still, how will I know what’s going on with you?”

“Here,” said Harry, pressing something flat and shiny into Ron’s hand. “It’s a mirror that you can talk into whenever you want to contact me - just say my name, and if I don’t answer right away, leave a message.”

“Er... wow! That’s pretty cool Harry. Where’d you get something like this?”

“Sirius originally gave me one,” said Harry sadly, feeling a flush of shame as well. “Dumbledore made more - gave me an extra one, reckoning I might want to talk to you. There’s just one more thing.” Harry held out a vial. “It’s the Lucky Potion I won earlier this year.”

Ron’s eyes boggled. “Blimey Harry! That’s... No way! Won’t you need it?”

“Nah!” Harry shook his head. “I’ve got Dumbledore and Dora backing me up. But if the Ministry sends people to Hogwarts, Vol... You-Know-Who or his Death Eaters probably won’t be far behind. If you run into any trouble, that’s when you’ll want to use it.” 

“I... I don’t know what to say, Harry!”

“Just say that you and Neville will keep an eye on things, and stay out of trouble if you can. Dumbledore will work out a plan with the Order to retake Hogwarts at some point, if we can prove that Umbridge is corrupt... and do in You-Know-Who while we’re at it.”

**~o0o~**

Harry could barely concentrate during classes the next day, nervously anticipating his imminent departure from Hogwarts with Hermione, Dora, and the others. Luna, Ginny and Parvati had all been brought up to speed about the plan. Knapsacks already packed, everyone met up with Dumbledore in his office when lessons were over for the day. Dumbledore looked strangely odd, dressed in muggle clothes - jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt under an overcoat.

“How’ll we be getting out of here?” asked Harry.

“We shall be taking my office Floo to somewhere local to avoid spending too long in the system, then traveling by Apparition to Number Twelve. I do believe that you and Miss Granger are more than qualified to bring Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley by side-along Apparition.”

“Oh!” said Harry, surprised that Dumbledore trusted his and Hermione’s skills enough to bring Ginny and Luna by side-along Apparition on their very first attempt at it.

Dumbledore flung some sparkling jade-coloured powder into his fireplace and the flames turned green. 

“Tonks, if you please...” He gestured to Dora, indicating that she should lead the way, and Harry followed along after. One by one they stepped into the flames and disappeared, Dumbledore bringing up the rear.

Coughing, wheezing, and dizzy when he emerged from the green flames, Harry was appreciating Apparition more than he thought he ever would. It took Harry a moment to realise where he was - the dark and dingy Hogshead Pub. Hermione appeared behind him, nearly hacking up a lung. Luna, Ginny, and Parvati peered around the tavern, spotting the surly looking bartender behind the counter.

“Wotcher Aberforth,” Dora said to the bartender once she too had recovered from her trip through the Floo. The bartender simply grunted.

“Oh, I remember this place,” said Luna in recognition.

“Yeah, the Hogshead Pub,” said Ginny, “from the very first meeting of the D.A.”

“I wonder why Dumbledore wanted to bring us here?” Parvati frowned in puzzlement.

“Because the proprietor of this establishment is my brother,” said Dumbledore as he stepped serenely out of the hearth, the green flames vanishing upon his arrival, “and a trusted member of the Order I might add. ... Hello Aberforth, the use of your Floo is greatly appreciated.”

“Not like I had much choice, really,” Aberforth Dumbledore grumbled in response. Harry and Hermione gaped in surprise, now comprehending why the bartender had seemed so familiar the last time they had seen him.

Albus Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, there is always a choice Aberforth. I also appreciate your participation in the Order, despite all.”

“Right! Well you’d best be disapparating from the back if you don’t want to draw attention,” said Aberforth curtly, trying to hurry them along.

“Indeed,” said Albus, gesturing towards the door at the rear of the pub. Dora led them all out into the alleyway behind the tavern. 

“So, where are we apparating to?” asked Dora. “We can’t arrive in the square in broad daylight.” 

“Quite so,” Dumbledore replied. “We shall be apparating to the kitchen of Number 8, Grimmauld Place. It is currently unoccupied. Now, is everyone ready?”

“I think so,” said Parvati, looking a bit nervous. She, like her sister Padma, had become quite proficient at Apparition, but this was her first time out in the real world, and at such a great distance besides.

Harry and Hermione were both a bit anxious to be responsible for Ginny and Luna on their first attempt at bringing someone by side-along Apparition. Dora twisted first, vanishing before their eyes with a pop. Harry and Hermione both took deep breaths, clutching their charges, and they too disappeared, as did Parvati. Last but not least, Dumbledore disapparated once it appeared that all were safely on their way.

Arriving with a cracking sound, Harry looked Luna over to see that she was alright, and he breathed a sigh of relief to see that he hadn’t splinched her. Luna grinned, looking for all the world as if it had been great fun. The others appeared out of thin air at the same time.

“Er... you’re okay then, Luna,” said Harry, his voice questioning. “Usually people feel a bit nauseous on their first go.”

“Oh yes, I’m quite alright,” Luna serenely replied. Having arrived with Hermione, Ginny looked a bit green around the gills and peered at Luna enviously. 

Dumbledore arrived with a loud report and glanced around the dilapidated kitchen with cracked cabinets, dusty shelves, and peeling wallpaper, looking quite satisfied.

“Ah, good. I am pleased to see that all have arrived, safe and sound,” he said.

“Was there ever any doubt?” said Dora wryly.

“None at all,” Dumbledore responded, his piercing blue eyes twinkling as he handed out slips of paper with Number Twelve’s address to those who had never been there. “In any case, if you would please read these, they shall allow you passage past the Secret-Keeping Charm. Once inside, I will reset the Charm, keying it to Harry, and then you shall read the new slips written in his hand. Now, if you would please follow me.”

It was a short walk down the street to Number Twelve. Though led by what appeared to be an aged Hippie, long past his glory days, the procession looked no different than any other tour group of teens lost in a run-down part of London. Dora in particular didn’t look out of place at all with her spiky pink hair and her ripped t-shirt emblazoned with an image of The Clash.

Once all were safely inside Number Twelve, Dumbledore was as good as his word, resetting the Secret Keeping Charm with his wand and having Harry scrawl the address on seven pieces of paper. Everyone piled their bags on the long oak table in the kitchen.

“What do we do now?” asked Ginny.

“Now we wait,” Dumbledore replied, “while Tonks disguises herself as me. When we are ready to leave, Harry and Miss Granger will be disguised with polyjuice potion as Ministry personnel whom Minister Umbridge will never suspect - two Aurors to be precise. 

“The personnel have already been enchanted with a bewitched sleep, safely in their homes, by one of the Order’s moles in the Auror Office. They will awaken tomorrow morning none the wiser. And I myself will be entering the Ministry under a Disillusionment Charm. We shall be leaving around six, after most Ministry personnel are gone for the day.”

The clock ticked on interminably as everyone grew more antsy. Finally it was nearly time to go; Harry and Hermione downed their vials of Polyjuice Potion. 

“You two look just like Dawlish and Hopkirk,” Dora chortled. 

“So Hermione’s Mafalda Hopkirk then?” Harry looked puzzled. “I thought she worked in the Misuse of Magic Department.”

“Nah” said Dora, “Hermione is Mafalda’s sister, Mildred Hopkirk.” 

Then Dora morphed into Dumbledore, and Dumbledore turned invisible. The foursome apparated to an alley in the Whitehall area, then made their way to the Visitor’s Entrance. Harry recognised the red phone-box immediately, and his stomach tightened, remembering his Trial - the first time he had seen Umbridge. 

After they all squeezed into the phone-box, Dumbledore dialed the number, and the elevator inside descended below the streets of London. Harry and Hermione slipped into their Auror’s robes on the way down.

The security wizard manning the station at the visitor’s entrance boggled in shock, his eyes nearly falling out of his head to see what appeared to be Dumbledore arriving in the company of two Aurors.

“Er... what are you lot doin’ here? I thought we weren’t bringin’ him till tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, were you now?” asked the fake Dumbledore, feigning surprise. “Well, you can inform the Minister that I am turning myself in for questioning on the matters of Scrimgeour’s disappearance, and the accusations that I am fomenting a seditious muggleborn rebellion. I am certain that she shall be delighted to see me, despite arriving after hours.”

“Er, y...yeah... probably,” the security wizard stammered. “Sh...she’s already gone ‘ome for the day, but I.. I s’pose I can call the Minister back to the Ministry.” 

“Most excellent!” exclaimed the fake Dumbledore, beaming cheerfully, as if he was meeting the Minister for dinner rather than an interrogation. “I think I’ll just wait in her office; these two fine Aurors can show me the way, I am sure.”

“Er... I s’pose,” said the security wizard dubiously, though clearly unwilling to challenge Dumbledore and two Aurors.

The fake Dumbledore and his “escort” marched across the Atrium to one of the elevators, past the statue which had clearly been restored since the last time Harry had seen it. As the elevator rattled downwards, sinking to the lower levels of the Ministry, the real Dumbledore, invisible, made a stop at one of the floors.

“It might be worth searching the Minister’s propaganda office, of which I believe she is in charge,” said the invisible Dumbledore, “If you don’t mind, Harry. You can meet us down at the administration level after.”

“Er, alright then,” said Harry, his heart thumping wildly. “No problem.”

The fake Dawlish tentatively stepped out of the elevator, and it hurtled on its way to the level which housed the Minister’s office. Harry glanced up and down the corridor, wondering which way to go. He picked a direction and hoped he was right. Passing a Magical Sanitation worker mopping the floor, he almost thought of asking for directions, then thought better of it as it would seem weird for an Auror to ask for directions in the Ministry.

“Evenin’ sir,” said the floor mopper as he directed the mops with his wand.

“Er, Y...yes, a fine evening indeed,” stammered the fake Dawlish, kicking himself for such a lame response. The floor mopper gave the fake Dawlish a funny look, but didn’t challenge him. Harry continued on his way, forcing himself into a more confident stride befitting an Auror. 

Finally he spied a door with a sign which read, Office of Propaganda. The fake Dawlish opened the door a crack and eyeballed the chamber inside, seeing a few Ministry employees who were working late. Taking a deep breath, Harry flung the door open a little too hard, and the doorknob banged loudly into the wall. Harry cringed, then quickly straightened up.

“Can I help you sir?” asked one of the workers who were now staring at the fake Dawlish. 

“Er, Yes! The Minister asked me to bring her a file from her office here, to the Minister’s official Minister Office,” said the fake Dawlish in the most authoritative voice he could muster. 

Most of the employees seemed to accept his response and went back to work, copying pamphlets with the Gemino spell and sorting them into piles. Only one continued to give the fake Dawlish a puzzled look. 

Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye, catching the titles of some of the pamphlets. One read, _The Muggleborn Menace: Friend or Foe?_ Another was entitled, _The Pureblood Agenda: an Explanation for the Skeptical_. Yet another was emblazoned with the title, _Miscegenation: Should the Marriage of Wizards and Muggles be Allowed?_

Feeling a bit sick, Harry spied the door of the Propaganda Chief’s office and marched across the laminated floor. Being a bit less forceful this time, he turned the brass doorknob and stepped through the doorway, closing it behind him. 

Hurriedly, Harry yanked open the desk drawers and began rifling through them. Seeing nothing which looked like the Locket, Harry turned to the file cabinets and gave them a search. Finally, Harry decided that the Locket wasn’t there, and that it wasn’t very likely to be there anyway, especially after-hours. 

As he was about to leave the office, Harry remembered that he had told the workers that he was fetching a file for the Minister. He quickly grabbed a random file and exited the office. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the corridor unaccosted.

He nodded at the floor mopper as he retraced his steps back to the elevator. The fake Dawlish fidgeted nervously while he waited for the elevator to return. A late worker from another office nodded at him as he walked by.

“Evenin’ Dawlish,” said the Ministry official wearing an Administration Badge, indicating a higher-up. “Working late again, are you?”

“Yeah!” said the fake Dawlish, thinking fast. “You know how it is around here.”

“Ain’t that the truth, though,” the Administrator sighed, smiling wryly. “No rest for the weary. Anyway, gotta be gettin’ on so’s I can finish up and go home to the Missus before she clobbers me. G’Night Dawlish.”

The fake Dawlish nodded. “Good Night then.”

The Administrator went on his way and Harry let out a sigh of relief, feeling like he was finally getting the hang of being Dawlish. The elevator opened and Harry’s breath caught; someone was already in the elevator - not just another Auror, but the newest head of the DMLE. Harry had seen Yaxley in the _Daily Prophet_ a lot recently.

“Ah, Dawlish! There you are! Glad you’re working late tonight,” said Yaxley sharply. “Could use another Auror right now - Dumbledore’s here! He turned himself in. Saved us the trouble of arresting him at Hogwarts tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent!” the fake Dawlish exclaimed. “More than happy to join you, sir.” The elevator took off, hurtling down to the level which housed the Minister’s Office.

**~o0o~**

Hermione hated to see Harry go off by himself. She fretted all the way down to the Minister’s Office. Dora, the fake Dumbledore seemed to sense the fake Mildred Hopkirk’s anxiety.

“No need t’worry Hermione,” said the fake Dumbledore. “Harry can take care o’ himself.”

“I know,” the fake Mildred responded. “I just can’t help it though.”

“We should be outta here pretty soon,” the fake Dumbledore reassured her. “We’re doin’ alright so far.”

Finally reaching the right level, the fake Dumbledore led the way to the Minister’s Office. They arrived just in time to see Minister Umbridge stepping out of the green flames in her personal Floo.

“Well, well,” said the Minister in her breathiest, most girlish voice, looking positively giddy, “This _is_ a surprise, Dumbledore. I couldn’t be more delighted to see you.”

“As am I, Dolores.” The fake Dumbledore twinkled at the Minister. “A little bird told me that I was needed, and I am more than willing to answer any questions you may have for me. I am quite certain that we can resolve our differences amicably. I assure you, I have nothing to hide.”

“Oh, indeed,” Minister Umbridge agreed, practically cackling with glee. “Of that I have no doubt. Now, we are merely awaiting Senior Undersecretary Weasley’s arrival. Perhaps a cup of tea while we we wait?” 

“Thank you, Dolores,” the fake Dumbledore beamed, “That would be most agreeable.”

The Minister waved her wand and a teapot appeared with some delicate chintz teacups, no doubt provided for by the Ministry’s house-elves.

“Sugar and cream?” the Minister offered, gesturing at the creamer and the bowl full of sugar cubes.

“Honey and a squeeze of lemon shall suffice,” the fake Dumbledore replied.

The fake Auror Hopkirk, standing at attention, grew more anxious with each passing minute while the fake Dumbledore and Umbridge sipped their respective cups of tea. Fifteen minutes later, a disheveled Percy Weasley burst into the Minister’s Office.

“Sorry Minister,” he gasped., out of breath, “I hope I’m not too late. I came as soon as I could.”

“Not at all, Percy,” said the Minister. “Please, join us in a cup of tea and put your feet up.” Percy Weasley took a seat and the Minister passed him a steaming teacup.

“Now, to business,” the Minister began. “If you please Dumbledore, perhaps you can explain where you were the night that Scrimgeour disappeared.”

“Ah, now that is a good question indeed, Dolores,” the fake Dumbledore responded cheerily. “At that late hour, on the night in question, I was fast asleep in my quarters at Hogwarts.”

“And can anyone vouch for your presence that night?” the Minister asked in her most dulcet tone. 

“Alas, these days I sleep alone,” the fake Dumbledore sighed wistfully. “It has been quite some time since I have had a partner to share my bed with.”

“Hmm... I see,” said the Minister primly, pursing her lips. “So, no alibi then.”

“None at all, Dolores,” the fake Dumbledore replied, beaming brightly.

The real Dumbledore, hidden by the Disillusionment Charm decided that the inquiry had gone on long enough, expecting Harry to arrive at any moment. 

“Immobulus Maxima,” whispered the real Dumbledore, pointing his equally invisible wand at Umbridge and Percy Weasley. They froze instantly, Percy in mid-sip from his teacup.

The fake Dumbledore fumbled around under the Minister’s pink robes, finding Slytherin’s Locket.

“Got it,” said the fake Dumbledore, placing the Locket in the pocket of his robes. 

“Here’s the fake Locket,” said the fake Mildred Hopkirk, her heart racing. 

The fake Dumbledore quickly replaced the fake Locket around Minister Umbridge’s neck, and fiddled with her robes, until it was in just the right place. The real Dumbledore emerged from his Disillusionment Charm as the fake Dumbledore’s beard shriveled to nothing, and his features changed back into those of a girl with spiky pink hair. 

“I must say, Tonks,” Dumbledore chuckled, “that was quite an exceptional impression of me.”

“I’ve ‘ad years to get it right,” Dora chortled. “I was quite the cut-up at parties.”

“Indeed! Of that I have no doubt,” said Dumbledore as he cast the Disillusionment Charm on Dora and took her place in the seat before the Minister’s desk. He picked up his cup of tea, hoping that Harry would be there soon, when the door suddenly burst open.

“What the bloody hell?” gasped Chief Auror Yaxley upon seeing the Senior Undersecretary and the Minister both frozen, an apologetic looking fake Dawlish at his side.

Hermione was the quickest to respond. “Confundus,” she muttered, her wand pointed directly at Yaxley.

“Well done Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, looking quite impressed.

“Sorry about that,” said the fake Dawlish. “There wasn’t really anything I could do without risking being found out. There’s loads more Ministry workers around than I thought there would be.”

“That’s quite alright, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “No harm has been done, and I think a few more Confunduses and Memory Charms all the way around will suffice to explain the absence of the Aurors whom you and Miss Granger are impersonating. Quickly now, you must depart before the Polyjuice Potion wears off. ... And please do not lose your invisible escort on your way out,” he added with a wink.

Harry, Hermione, and Dora wasted no time, dashing back the way they had come, towards the elevators. Dumbledore cast the Memory Charms on Yaxley, Percy, and Umbridge before unfreezing them, leaving them none the wiser...


	20. The Great Escape

Bellatrix cursed under her breath, out of earshot of the Dark Lord. Choose wisely he had said. But there were few Death Eaters of note left to choose from. Nearly the entire inner-circle had been captured at the Ministry at the end of June the previous year, and the Dark Lord had yet to authorise a mission to break them out, choosing to let them stew for a while in their disgrace. 

Not that any mission to take Azkaban would be necessary soon. Dolores Umbridge was already making progress turning the wizard world on its head with her propaganda - muddying the waters. Up was nearly Down, White would soon be Black. And then the Death Eaters on the inside of Azkaban could be pardoned and released. 

But for the time being, until the Wizengamot was turned, in Azkaban they would remain while the Dark Lord lay low, spending most of his resources on causing trouble in the Muggle world, which largely went unreported by the _Daily Prophet_ these days. 

Of the ones outside Azkaban, Severus Snape was already slated for the team to take Hogwarts, but Bellatrix didn’t entirely trust him. And Wormtail was off-limits as he had so recently become the Dark Lord’s favourite. Yaxley was no good, as he was one of the Dark Lord’s moles in the Ministry - but at least as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he could keep the Aurors from interfering.

That left the Carrow siblings, one of whom was also an occasional Ministry asset. Alecto Carrow sometimes worked for the Operations division of the Unspeakable Office as a Private Contractor. But as Alecto was currently not in their employ, she would do. Indeed Bellatrix missed working with Alecto. 

Not to mention that Alecto’s position as a Ministry Asset could potentially be an advantage in giving the taking of Hogwarts cover, giving the operation an air of legitimacy as a Ministry affair. Her brother Amycus was a bit of a loose cannon, but Alecto had him wrapped around her little finger - and occasionally other body parts as well. 

Fenrir Greyback might make a good addition to the team - he was eager to please the Dark Lord in the hopes that he would earn a Dark Mark. Then there were a number of other Death Eaters who had evaded capture during the last war, none of them part of the inner-circle, and a plethora of recent recruits to the fold - including Draco, who had taken the Dark Mark not so long ago. Bellatrix decided she would simply have to decide which were the most worthy from among them.

Finally, after several days, Bellatrix had put together her team and been ready to lead the infiltration of Hogwarts, with the map of the maze of tunnels beneath the castle which Wormtail had provided. Breaking into Honeyduke’s after-hours without alerting the citizens of Hogsmeade was no challenge, and now they were making their way through the dark underground passages hidden beneath the castle. 

Up the stone steps Bellatrix and her team climbed until they found themselves behind the stone inner-walls of Hogwarts and the timbers which blocked the secret entrance, just as Wormtail had described. Closely examining the ancient wooden beams, Bellatrix found the crack of which he had spoken. 

Though she had very little but disdain for him, Bellatrix had to give Wormtail his due for having accomplished what no other Death Eaters could. He was right - simply expanding the crack would widen the hole in the magical protections which warded the castle. Checking the gold pocket watch in her robes, Bellatrix was pleased to see that they had made good time and were right on schedule. Nearly the entirety of the student body and staff would soon be in the Great Hall, as dinner was about to start...

**~o0o~**

Professor McGonagall felt a sense of unease as she sat down to dinner with Flitwick, Hagrid, and the others. Her stomach tied up in knots, she could barely consider eating. The absence of the headmaster in these troubled times was unnerving to say the least, and she had the strangest feeling that the other shoe was about to drop.

That was when she heard it - the sound of spells being exchanged just outside the Great Hall and yells from some of the Aurors currently stationed at Hogwarts. The staff peered in bewilderment at each other. There was a sudden commotion in the entryway and Flitwick rose to his feet, wand in hand. 

Most of the Professors and students gasped in shock when they saw who it was. Hagrid roared, nearly knocking over the staff table when he leapt out of his seat.

 **“Snape!”** he bellowed, “Yeh stinkin’ cowardly Death Eater... How’d’yeh an’ yer pals get inter the castle?” Snape merely returned Hagrid’s shouts with a scornful gaze.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bellatrix cackled as more Death Eaters swarmed into the Hall, including a gleeful Draco Malfoy, a leering Fenrir Greyback, and the Carrow siblings, their wands all drawn. 

Flitwick got off a stunning spell, hitting one of the Death Eaters before McGonagall grabbed his arm. 

“Filius, no!” she ordered commandingly. “It’s too dangerous! There are too many students...” 

“Very good McGonagall! You don’t know how right you are,” said Bellatrix. “If you’re not careful, some of the children could be killed in the crossfire.”

McGonagall peered at Snape, who looked on coldly, both knowing that he had to maintain his cover, and that he had been ordered to do so by the headmaster himself.

“Severus, how could you?” McGonagall snapped, keeping up appearances. 

“Enough with the small talk, Minerva,” Snape sneered. “Where is Dumbledore? I have a score to settle with him.”

“Gone,” said McGonagall brusquely.

“Gone? What do you mean, _gone_?” asked Bellatrix incredulously.

“I mean he has left the castle,” McGonagall replied in a cutting tone. “He is at the Ministry, responding to the utterly baseless accusations made against him.”

“Ah! I see!” A smile crept to Bellatrix’s lips. “He is unlikely to return then. Dolores will see to that.”

“We’ll see about that,” said McGonagall. “In any case, seeing as he’s not here, you are wasting your time. Why not depart and leave us to go about our business.”

“Sorry Minny,” Bellatrix purred. “That won’t be happening. You see, the Dark Lord has decided that Severus should be instated as Headmaster, and the Carrows instated as his deputies. ... Though the Dark Lord is nothing if not magnanimous. If you and the staff behave, you will be allowed to retain your positions.”

“And as the new Headmaster, my first order of business is the rectification of Dumbledore’s deplorable lack of disciplinary measures,” said Snape unctuously, a sadistic smirk on his face, his eyes scanning the Gryffindor table. “Where are Potter and Granger? I do not see them among the other dunderheads which populate your House.”

“I have no idea,” McGonagall retorted. “There is no rule which states that students must show up for every meal.”

“Rules can be changed,” Snape shot back. “No doubt Potter and Granger are somewhere getting up to no good as per usual. No matter, we shall find them soon enough. ... Perhaps Weasley knows of their whereabouts.” His dark glittering eyes fell upon Ron’s.

Ron gulped. 

“I dunno where they are! They didn’t say where they were going to hang out tonight,” he answered truthfully.

“Hmm... so I see,” said Snape coldly after a moment. “Still, it would be remiss of me not to investigate further. Report to my office after dinner Weasley. If we haven’t located Potter and Granger by then, we will be discussing this again in greater detail.”

Satisfied that all had been said which was necessary, Snape stalked out of the Great Hall in a swirl of robes. Seeing Professor McGonagall’s worried expression, Bellatrix smirked.

“Why so down at the mouth, Minny?” she taunted. “Anyway, don’t fret on my account. Greyback and I shan’t be staying long - just long enough to find Potter and Granger. The rest shall stay to help Severus and the Carrows keep order.”

Fenrir Greyback looked slightly disgruntled as he followed Bellatrix, Alecto Carrow, and half a dozen Death Eaters out of the Hall, apparently disappointed that he hadn’t been given an opportunity to bite or maul someone. Still, they were hunting for Potter and Granger... maybe he would get lucky and find a straggler on the way! 

Amycus Carrow remained in the Great Hall - smirking disdainfully - with Draco and another half a dozen Death Eaters. Draco swaggered over to the Gryffindor table, grinning as they all glared at him. 

“Miss me Weaselby?” he sneered. “You and Granger better watch out. As soon as the Dark Lord gives me the go-ahead, you’re both mine.”

“Piss off, Malfoy!” snarled Ron. “If you think I’m gonna let you push us around, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Whatever you say, Weaselby,” Draco sniffed haughtily. “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we? It’s a new order around here now!”

Draco chuckled and strutted over to the Slytherin table, where he was greeted with slaps on the back, grins and cheers from Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. Zabini sat silently, his expression brooding and pensive. No longer feeling very hungry, the rest of the students in the Great Hall murmured quietly and fearfully among themselves. 

As soon as Malfoy was gone, Ron thought quickly, his heart pounding. If he stuck around, and Malfoy really did have the go-ahead from You-Know-Who to do him in, there wasn’t much he could do about it with Snape and all the other Death Eaters in charge. 

Maybe he should do a bunk like Harry and Hermione had. But there was no way he was leaving Lavender behind. And there might not be another chance if he didn’t take it before meeting Snape in the heamaster’s office. He palmed the vial Harry had given him, mulling over his decision.

“Hey Lavender,” he whispered. “D’you trust me?”

“Of course, Ron,” she hissed back. Ron unstoppered the vial under the table, then surreptitiously slipped half of its contents into her pumpkin juice, and half into his own.

“Then drink this right away,” Ron murmured, “and when I say so, stick to me like glue. Don’t ask me why just yet, okay?”

Lavender didn’t hesitate. She picked up her glass of juice when Ron did, and hastily gulped it down. The wait was interminable as they picked at their dinners moodily. Finally, Alecto Carrow returned and quietly conferred with her brother. Ron could have sworn he heard Alecto mutter something like, “...Potter...” during their whispered conversation. 

“Bloody Hell! ... Really?” Amycus Carrow growled, just loud enough to hear. “No point lookin’ anymore then, is there? The Dark Lord won’t be too pleased about this.”

“True,” his sister replied. “Still, he can’t blame any of us...”

Bellatrix appeared next in the Great Hall, looking furious. The Carrows and Bellatrix whispered amongst themselves, then she stalked back out, saying nothing. 

“Right then,” Amycus said loudly, his voice resounding in the Hall, “Dinner is over, you lot. Get a move on back t’your dorms, nice an’ orderly like. Don’t make any trouble, an’ you won’t get hurt.”

Of course, orderly was a relative term when talking about hundreds of students filing out of the Great Hall. Even with more than a dozen Death Eaters keeping their eyes peeled for any potential troublemakers and their wands trained on the crowd, it was impossible for them to watch everyone. Feeling a bit buzzy, but more clearheaded than he had ever been in his life, Ron saw his opportunity and grabbed Lavender’s hand.

“Now,” he whispered, “follow me.” 

Lavender’s heart raced and her breath quickened as she let Ron lead her towards the front doors, the throng rushing around them in the other direction as if they were swimming upstream. Despite her anxiety, she felt a surging tingle of euphoria and time almost seemed to slow down in the rest of the world while they continued to move forward at normal speed. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but bit her tongue instead, squeaking nervously when Ron cracked open one of the front doors.

To Lavender’s great surprise, nobody seemed to notice them slipping out and then quietly closing the door behind them. It wasn’t until they had crossed the courtyard and were halfway down the path towards the tree-line of the woods ahead when someone else poked their head out the door.

It was only by sheer happenstance that Draco spotted the front door shutting out of the corner of his eye. Curious, not sure if he was just seeing things, Draco sauntered over to the front doors and opened them, peering out into darkening twilight. He spied two shadowy silhouettes halfway down the path. 

Draco almost called out for one of the Death Eaters, then decided to see for himself who it was, not wanting to cause a fuss over nothing if it was just some other Death Eaters patrolling the grounds. Shutting the door behind him, Draco ran across the courtyard, then dashed quietly down the pathway. His eyes widened when a flash of orange hair caught in the shine of moonlight. 

“Weasley!” Draco yelled, “Where the hell d’you think you’re going? Stop!”

“Oh no!” Lavender squealed.

“Bloody Hell!” Ron muttered, “Thought this stuff was supposed to make us lucky.” 

A red bolt of magic shot by Ron, missing him completely. Malfoy got off several more stunning spells which missed Ron and Lavender by wide margins, red sparks bursting as the spells rebounded from the lawn and the bushes, before Ron managed to retrieve his wand from his back pocket. 

“Stupefy!” Ron barked, returning fire. His spell hit Malfoy square in the face with one shot; Malfoy crumpled to the ground, out like a light. Ron gaped for a moment, surprising himself with his perfect aim, then he grinned.

“Hah! I reckon it did make us lucky after all. Come on Lavender!” 

Ron grabbed her hand again and they sprinted down the path and into the woods. Even pelting at full speed it took them both a while to make their way to the wrought iron gates which guarded the entrance to the grounds of Hogwarts. Panting and breathless, it took them a moment to recover.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Lavender as she peered dubiously at the gates. 

“Just push,” said Ron, grinning. Lavender reached her hand out and nudged one of the gates. She gasped in surprise when it swung open.

“Shouldn’t they be locked?” 

“Yeah!” Ron replied giddily. “But we drank Felix Felicis, the Lucky Potion. We just got lucky that the gate was open for us.”

Once outside the gates, Ron shut them with a clang.

“Well, how about it Lavender?” said Ron. “You ready to apparate now?”

“Er... but we’ve only barely managed it a couple of times now, and you lost one of your eyebrows last time.”

“Yeah! But this time we’ll be bloody brilliant!” Ron chortled. “There’s no way we’ll mess up while we’re lucky.”

“Where should we go then?” asked Lavender.

“Well, I reckon back to my house, if you want,” said Ron. “Mum and Dad won’t mind once I tell them what’s going on at Hogwarts. They’ll know the best place to hide us.”

“Alright,” Lavender nodded, beaming back at her boyfriend. “Let’s do it then. I'll finally get a chance to meet your parents.”

“Okay, just think ‘the Burrow’ for your destination, and don’t let go of me so you won’t get lost along the way.”

Holding hands, Lavender and Ron twisted and vanished into thin air with a loud crack...

**~o0o~**

The fake Dawlish checked his pocket-watch, his heart thudding against his rib cage so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest; the fake Mildred Hopkirk glanced at it and squeaked.

“Bloody hell!” swore the invisible Dora, seeing the time. “We’re cutting it close! We gotta get you two outta here before you change back.”

The lift jerked to a halt before it reached the top level and the doors opened. A tall man with short bristly black hair and grim features stared back at the fake Dawlish. He seemed a bit surprised. 

“Going up too, John? ...and you as well Mildred? Shouldn’t you two be headed down to the Minister’s office to assist in the containment of Dumbledore?”

“Er...” said the fake Dawlish, uncertain as to whom he was addressing. 

“Albert Runcorn,” hissed the invisible Dora right in his ear as the rattle of the door closing covered her whisper, “He’s an Unspeakable. Dumbledore thinks ‘e answers directly to Umbridge.” 

“‘Evening Albert,” the fake Dawlish responded more confidently. “Just some quick business in the Atrium. We’ll be heading back down shortly. And you?”

“Been in a late meeting with some department heads,” said Runcorn. “I’m going topside to coordinate the Aurors and Unspeakables who were called back to work to make sure Dumbledore doesn’t pull a fast one on us. They should be arriving in the Atrium right about now.”

The fake Hopkirk swallowed nervously, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

“You alright Mildred?” asked Runcorn. “You look a bit peaky.”

“That’s why we’re going up,” said the fake Dawlish, improvising wildly. “She’s feeling a bit sick. I’m making sure she gets to an employee floo without keeling over.”

“Ah! Of course,” Runcorn nodded stiffly. “You might even want to see Mildred home safely. She doesn’t look well at all. No need to worry you two - we’ve got plenty of others to do the job now.”

“Oh, thank you Albert,” said the fake Hopkirk, her voice quavering. “That would be lovely for John to take me home. I’m ever so grateful.” 

Finally the lift arrived at the top level. The invisible Dora, and the fake Dawlish and Hopkirk followed Runcorn out of the elevator, and none too soon. Harry could feel the tingling which heralded the imminent dissolution of the effects of the polyjuice potion. He gulped at the sight of twenty odd Aurors and Unspeakables milling about in the previously nearly empty Atrium.

Hurriedly he made his way with the fake Hopkirk through the parting crowd as the invisible Dora followed in their wake, her hand clutching Harry’s arm so he knew that she was still with them. Harry had just passed the last Auror to see him staring strangely at them. 

_Crap, crap, crap,_ Harry thought to himself, feeling his hair beginning to lengthen and his body shortening. He took one look at the fake Hopkirk to see her hair growing tawnier and bushier. The trio made a break for it, running across the Atrium to the employee flooports as the polyjuice potion wore off.

“Hang on a minute!” Runcorn barked at the assembled Ministry personnel. “That’s Potter and his girlfriend. Stop them! ... Stop them! They could be trying to help Dumbledore escape.” 

Stunning spells whizzed past Harry and Hermione’s heads as they ducked. In the nick of time, Dora shoved them into the first flooport they reached, flinging herself in after them. Arriving at the other end in what appeared to be a musty looking warehouse, they hurtled through the nearest doorway into a dark alley lit only by a few light-bulbs in broken sconces on the brick walls 

Suddenly hearing several other flooports flaring into green flames behind them, they slammed the door shut and disapparated. Moments later the door burst open again, revealing three Aurors who cursed vociferously as they peered up and down the empty alleyway...

**~o0o~**

Senior Undersecretary Percy Weasley finished his sip of tea as the Minister ogled Dumbledore like a frog which had just caught a very juicy fly.

“...Indeed Dolores,” Dumbledore continued, as if not missing a beat. “You are quite correct. I have no alibi to speak of.”

“Well, well, well,” said Dolores, beaming brightly, “This isn’t looking so good for you Dumbledore. We will come back to that in a moment. Now what can you tell me about the muggleborn rebels? ...If they are indeed wizards, and not simply muggles you have trained to use stolen wands.” 

“Tut, tut, Dolores,” Dumbledore responded, shaking his head and sighing as if speaking to a five year old, “I must say I am quite disappointed in you. Did you learn so little in your days at Hogwarts? Or is this simply the latest line of poor reasoning being promulgated by the Blood Purists? ... Surely you must know as well as I, that one must have magical abilities to be able to  
use a wand.”

“Not so fast Dumbledore,” the Minister retorted. “Don’t think you can pull the wool over the Ministry’s eyes. Unspeakables researching in the Department of Mysteries have found convincing evidence that mud... muggleborn wizards are a fraud - part of a centuries long conspiracy to undermine the wizarding bloodlines.”

“Perhaps if you would allow me to examine some of this so-called evidence, Dolores,” said Dumbledore, as polite as ever despite the Minister’s near slip, “I could point out where this team of no doubt crack researchers have gone awry...”

Percy scowled, chiming in for the first time. “Let you into the DoM? You can’t be serious, Dumbledore...”

“I think not,” Minister Umbridge responded, her voice growing steelier. “The Department of Mysteries is sacrosanct as you well know. The Unspeakable Office must keep its secrets secure after all.”

“Well, if the evidence cannot be examined openly, how can one be certain of its veracity?” Dumbledore pointed out reasonably, waving a hand. “Surely you must agree that the accused have a right to expect transparency and accountability when it comes to the evidence presented against them?” 

“Perhaps in other times, Dumbledore,” said the Minister. “But in these times, with sedition and treason afoot, and wand stealing muggles terrorising respectable wizards, we must take extraordinary measures to preserve the security and identity of our wizarding culture and traditions.”

“Well, then, I am afraid I simply cannot agree, Dolores.” Dumbledore peered at the Minister sadly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “Without a system of checks and balances, there can be no true rule of law ... no fairness ... no justice...”

“Now look here Dumbledore,” Percy interjected, looking scandalised, “Law and Order is the highest goal of the Ministry. You can’t just go around hurling such unfounded accusations.”

“My point precisely, Senior Undersecretary Weasley,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling again. “I knew you were top of the class in your year for good reason...”

Percy goggled for a moment, his face turning purple. 

“Well, I see we are getting nowhere, Dumbledore,” the Minister snapped. “Perhaps a few nights in a Ministry holding cell will loosen your tongue.”

“That is highly doubtful,” said Dumbledore, “as I have offered up everything I know regarding these matters, freely, of my own volition...” A clamouring interrupted Dumbledore as someone burst through the door behind him. 

“What is the meaning of this?” sniped the Minister. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“This better be good, Runcorn,” Yaxley growled. “I told you to keep everyone just outside to restrain Dumbledore when we were finished.”

“I don’t answer to you, Yaxley,” Runcorn groused. “In any case, Minister, thought you should know - Potter and Granger, they were here in the Ministry in disguise - their polyjuice wore off just a moment too late for us to realise who it was to do anything about it before they did a bunk. I reckon they were here to do a bit of recon while Dumbledore kept us distracted, and back Dumbledore up if things got hairy, then ran out of time.” 

“That sounds about right,” Dumbledore agreed cheerily when the Minister peered at him, a questioning look in her eye. “And I do believe that is my cue to depart.”

“Depart? Oh I don’t think so, Dumbledore!” the Minister snarled. “Haven’t I just said that you’ll be staying in a Ministry holding cell? And this is all the proof I need to hold you indefinitely, until such a time as I see fit to have you tried for Treason and Sedition. You won’t be going anywhere for a good long while. Don’t forget, the Ministry is warded by the same anti-Apparition charms as Hogwarts...”

“And you, Dolores, should do well to remember that I have other means of escape,” said Dumbledore, finishing with a little whistle. 

There was a flash of flame; a scarlet and gold phoenix suddenly appeared out of nowhere and lit upon Dumbledore’s forearm as if it were a falcon alighting upon its handler. Then a blazing luminescence - nearly as bright as the sun - flared and Dumbledore was swallowed by the light.

When the temporary blindness faded, still seeing spots, everyone gaped in shock at the empty seat which had held Dumbledore. 

**“NO!”** Minister Umbridge screamed, banging her fist on the desk. “This can’t be happening! Isn’t there a bloody ward against phoenix apparition?”

“Er... Madam Minister,” Runcorn said tentatively. 

**“What?”** snapped Umbridge, her features livid.

“There’s a head in your private floo!”

Minister Umbridge whirled around to see whose head had appeared in the green flames flickering in her hearth. Very few people had access to her office floo.

“Out!” she barked. “Everyone out! And begin an immediate search while you’re at it.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” said Runcorn. “Corbin, Senior Undersecretary - let’s leave the Minister to it then.”

The three Ministry officials filed out of the Minister’s office as the Minister addressed the head in her fireplace.

“Severus, what brings you here?”

“A query,” Snape’s head replied. “The Dark Lord sent us to Hogwarts to oust Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was nowhere to be found...”

“That’s because he was here, being interviewed regarding his crimes,” said the Minister. “Those little hooligans Potter and Granger were here too, no doubt spying on us while Dumbledore was keeping us distracted, but they escaped the Ministry before we had a chance to detain them.”

“Ah, so that is why they cannot be located here at the school,” Snape sighed. “I may as well call off the search. The Dark Lord will not be pleased, but we have Hogwarts now and they are all on the run. They cannot hide forever with both the Ministry and the Death Eaters on their tail.”

“Quite so,” Minister Umbridge agreed, calculating quickly in her head. “And today’s events haven’t been a dead loss - they can be used to our political advantage. With Dumbledore’s escape, at least I have the proof needed to convince the Wizengamot of his treachery. And by the end of the month, once I have the public eating out of my hands, I should be able to cast off all pretense of neutrality and begin openly advancing Voldemort’s agenda months ahead of schedule.”

“Hmm...” Snape’s expression was pensive. “That should ameliorate the Dark Lord’s mood. And as to our taking of Hogwarts...?”

“Not a problem! I’ll say it was a Ministry operation,” the Minister stated authoritatively. “Did any of the Aurors stationed at Hogwarts to ‘protect’ it from Voldemort give you any trouble?”

“There were a number of them which we were forced to incapacitate. They are, however, all unharmed.”

“Very good!” The Minister nodded slowly. “I’ll have Yaxley pop up to Hogwarts tomorrow to explain the situation to them...”

**~o0o~**

The quiet dark square in Grimmauld place was lit only by a flickering lamppost. The three figures emerging from the shadows were relieved to feel springy grass under their shoes, and that the nightfall had covered their arrival.

“Blimey, that was a narrow escape,” muttered Dora, sounding breathless. “We barely made it out of there.”

“But we’ve got it,” Harry grinned. “ _Finally_ , we’ve got the locket.”

“Let’s get inside quickly and finish it then, before anyone has a chance to work out where we’ve gone,” said Hermione, glancing nervously up and down the street. “They might already have search parties out looking for us.”


	21. There's No Place Like Home

“Oh, thank goodness!” said Parvati, looking very relieved to see Harry, Hermione, and Dora when Harry opened the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. “You’re back!”

“Of course they are,” beamed Luna. 

“So did you get it then?” asked Ginny, “...the artifact you were trying to find? Is Dumbledore safe too?”

“Hang on a tick, love,” said Dora, grinning as she, Harry, and Hermione entered the dimly lit foyer. “Give us a chance to catch our breaths.”

“But yeah, we got it,” Harry managed to gasp as his adrenaline began to ebb and his breathing slowed. 

“I could use a cup of tea after all that,” said Hermione, bustling into the kitchen followed by the others. She filled a kettle at the white porcelain sink and set it on the stove..

“Anyway,” said Harry, glancing at Ginny, “I dunno if Dumbledore made it out yet, but he should be alright. We’ll check in a bit...” Harry turned to Dora. “I just want to get this over with. I’ll feel loads better when it’s finished.”

“Right! Of course Harry! Here you go then.” Dora nodded, retrieving Slytherin’s Locket from her pocket and handing it to Harry.

“So this is it,” Harry murmured, holding it up by the slender chain. “The real locket.”

The golden locket dangled, glinting in the light from the chandelier above the oak table as it swung back and forth like a pendulum. Luna, Ginny, and Parvati eyed it with bated breath, taken with curiosity. 

Harry was almost mesmerised, his eyes following the swinging locket. Unlike the Diadem, he didn’t need Hermione’s help to sense it. He could feel the evil radiating from it, pulsing in time with his throbbing scar. Hermione shot him a look of concern.

“Are you alright Harry?”

“I will be when it’s over,” he muttered. 

Harry tried to undo the clasp; he frowned when it wouldn’t budge, wondering if it required him to speak in Parseltongue to open it. Hermione abruptly clapped her hand over his, looking frightened.

“Don’t! ... Don’t open it Harry!” 

“Huh?” Harry peered at Hermione, puzzled. “Why not?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “I... There’s just something about it. I just think there will be trouble if you open it.”

“You feel it too then?”

Hermione bit her lip, frowning. “Maybe! I can’ t really speak to what _you’re_ feeling. But there’s definitely something off about it.”

“Yeah there is! There’s a piece o’ that maniac inside it,” said Dora, picking up the sword of Gryffindor from the table by its ruby encrusted hilt. “Hermione’s right Harry. Don’t open that bloody thing! Just do it in!”

“There’s a piece of You-Know-Who inside it?” Ginny gasped, suddenly alarmed. “You mean like a lock of his hair or something?” she asked, having a bad feeling that it was hardly anything so mundane.

Harry shook his head, his stomach clenching, wondering if Hermione and Dora were right. 

“No - a piece of Voldemort’s soul. As long as it’s inside this thing, Voldemort can’t die. That’s why he managed to survive all these years, and that’s why we have to destroy it.”

“Like... like his diary then.” Ginny’s breathing quickened, her nostrils flaring angrily. She glowered at the locket. “I agree with Hermione and Dora. Don’t open it Harry!”

Harry swallowed, his eyes widening as it really hit him. Of all people, Ginny would have an inkling of what resided within the locket. He frowned when he realised what he had almost done.

“Yeah! ... Yeah, you’re probably right,” Harry murmured. “I’m not sure why I thought I should open it.”

“Because it _wanted_ you to open it,” said Luna. “I felt it too Harry.” 

“That sounds about right,” Harry agreed, nodding. “Okay, let’s do this then.”

Harry kneeled down and gingerly laid the locket on the tiled kitchen floor. Then he took the sword of Gryffindor from Dora’s hand and peered at the silver blade, holding it up to the light, his brow knitted in thought. After a moment, Harry held it out as if to give the sword to Ginny.

“Here, take it!”

“What?” asked Ginny, bewildered. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Stab the locket with it,” Harry replied matter-of-factly. “I reckon you deserve to kill a piece of the bastard who possessed you.”

“Me? Really?” A range of emotions flickered across Ginny’s features. “Are you sure? He killed your parents Harry.”

“Yeah! I’m sure!” said Harry firmly. “I got the one which almost did _you_ in. Go on, take it!”

Her hand shaking slightly, Ginny took the sword and gazed at it. Then she took a deep breath, her jaw setting in resolve. Harry gestured for everyone to stand back. Grasping the hilt with both hands, Ginny lofted the sword above her head; the blade flashed as she swung it down, striking the golden locket.

Sparks flew. A shrieking cacophony rent the air and Parvati winced, clapping her hands over her ears. A whirling tornado of black smoke billowed from the locket as it screamed and shuddered. The copper pots and pans dangling from hooks on the rack near the stove clanged and clattered as the gale force wind swept around the kitchen.

Knees wobbling, Harry groaned and clutched at his searing scar, feeling as if it had been stabbed with a hot poker, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Hermione caught him as he collapsed, gasping for air, and slumped in her arms. A black venomous ooze bled from the mangled locket and as quickly as it had begun, the howling tempest was over, the black smoke dissipating.

 _“Harry!”_ Ginny squealed in horror, dropping the sword when she saw him deathly pale and shaking in Hermione’s grasp. 

Luna’s eyes turned into saucers. Dora stood nearby and swallowed anxiously, never having seen Harry look in so much pain.

“Is... is he alright?” Parvati asked tearfully. 

“He will be in a few minutes,” Hermione reassured everyone. “It happens every time...” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“There are more of them, aren’t there?” said Luna, her voice calm. “Whatever those things are - besides the locket and the diary. And Harry’s connected to them somehow through the scar that Voldemort gave him, isn’t he?”

Hermione nodded, not sure what else to say. Harry’s breathing slowed as the burning pain ebbed and he extricated himself from Hermione’s embrace, sitting in a chair at the table. 

“I think I’ll have that cup of tea now,” said Harry quietly. 

The kettle was whistling on the stove, steam pouring from its spout, but nobody had noticed during the tumult. Everyone else took seats while Dora found some teacups in the cupboard. After a few sips of tea, Harry spoke again, looking at Luna, but addressing Ginny and Parvati as well.

“Yeah - there’s more of those things. They’re called horcruxes - enchanted vessels, each containing a piece of Voldemort’s soul. We’ve been hunting them - me, Hermione, Dora, with Dumbledore. We’ve already killed two others besides Riddle’s Diary and the Locket - a Ring and Ravenclaw’s Diadem... 

“Now there’s only two left - Hufflepuff’s Cup, and we think Voldemort’s snake. But we still have to find them and destroy them, and then...” Harry heaved a sigh. “...then there’s me! ... My scar...”

“What?” gasped Parvati, “You’re a horcrux too? How?”

“No way, Harry!” said Ginny, cutting across Parvati, speaking at the same time. “We’re not killing you!”

“No! Of course we’re not killing him!” said Hermione adamantly, glaring at Harry. “Don’t even suggest that, Harry!”

“Hermione, but what if it’s the only way...?” Harry began, a note of frustration creeping into his voice.

“No Harry!” she said sharply. “You heard what Dumbledore said. You’re not a _real_ horcrux! Voldemort never had a chance to enchant you to be a proper vessel - if he even could have, considering your mother’s protection charm. There’s another way to get rid of it... I know there is!”

“Well, I hope we figure it out then, before it’s too late,” he muttered.

“We _will_ Harry!” chimed in Dora. “Look, we just have to find Hufflepuff’s Cup and do it in before Voldemort finds us, or we find him - And you know that’s gonna happen sooner or later. ... Find Voldy, and we find the snake. We’ll do ‘em both at the same time, and then we’ll figure out how to get rid of the piece of that bastard in you, before ‘e gets a chance to find some other idiot to resurrect him.” 

“That sounds like a good plan to me, Harry,” said Luna earnestly. 

Harry sighed again, glancing in turn at all of the young witches at the table, seeing the determination in their faces. 

“Right! Okay! ... We have to do in the other horcruxes before we deal with me anyway. So let’s just focus on that for now and start working on finding Hufflepuff’s Cup...”

“Not tonight we’re not!” said Dora firmly. “Tonight, we’re gonna grab some grub and get some sleep. Then we’re gonna hunker down here for a bit until we’ve worked out our next move with Dumbledore. Speakin’ of which, we should probably check in with Dumbledore and make sure he got out of the Ministry okay.”

Harry flushed, mentally kicking himself. Dumbledore! Harry had been so intent on finishing off the horcrux as soon as possible, that Dumbledore had slipped to the back of his mind. Though Harry tried to make himself feel better by reassuring himself that Dumbledore had a surefire way of escaping the Ministry’s clutches.

“Yeah! Of course,” Harry mumbled, embarrassed as he reached into a pocket for his mirror. “I’ll try calling him right now.”

But as soon as Harry touched his mirror, he heard another voice he recognised immediately saying, “Harry, you there? Harry? ...” and peered into it seeing a freckled face and red hair.

“Ron?” he muttered, “What the...?” Then Harry shut up to listen to the message that Ron had left for him and everyone leaned in closer so they could hear it as well - Ginny especially.

“Hey, Harry...” said the image of Ron; from what Harry could see of the background, Ron appeared to be at home in his room. What on earth was Ron doing at the Burrow? 

“...if you get this,” Ron continued, “I just wanted t’let you know, Snape and a load of Death Eaters took over Hogwarts looking for you and Dumbledore, Hermione too. I think they were gonna nab me too, because Snape wanted to talk to me to find out where you were...”

Ginny looked horrified and let out a little squeak. 

“Anyway,” Ron went on. “I snuck out of the castle with Lavender - that Lucky Potion was dead useful - I reckon we couldn’t’ve pulled it off without it... Anyway, like I was saying, me and Lavender did a bunk, and I'm at home right now. Call me as soon as you get a chance.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Ginny let out a huge sigh of relief. “He’s safe.” 

“Bloody hell!” Harry swore. He was glad that Ron had got out before anyone could torture him, but what about everyone else? The Ministry at Hogwarts was bad enough, but Death Eaters... Harry shot Hermione and Dora a dark look. 

“Looks like Draco Malfoy’s mates found a way in after all.” Dora scowled. 

“Hmm... I’m not so sure it was them,” said Hermione, frowning pensively. “I rather think they’re a bit too thick to find any sort of secret passage, but maybe...”

“Yeah,” Harry growled. “They probably couldn’t find their arses unless someone gave them a swift kick in the bum...”

“...But maybe someone _else_ could.” Hermione raised her eyebrows and gave Harry a meaningful look. “Someone who helped find secret passages before...”

 _“Wormtail!”_ Harry spat, suddenly comprehending Hermione’s insinuation. “Of course! That’s it Hermione! It has to be him! He probably managed to sneak into the Honeyduke’s tunnel and find another way in...”

“I don’t know why he didn’t tell Voldemort before, though,” said Hermione, perplexed. “Voldemort wouldn’t have needed Malfoy to mend the Vanishing Cabinet if he had.”

“Dunno,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Somehow we just got bloody lucky that Wormtail never told Voldemort about the entrance behind the One Eyed Witch before Dumbledore blocked it. Though maybe Voldemort never asked him if he knew a way in - probably never even bothered to tell him about Malfoy’s secret mission. He didn’t seem to think much of Wormtail when I last saw them both together...”

Harry swallowed as Cedric’s dead eyes invaded his mind again, for the first time since Sirius’s had supplanted them in his nightmares. He was thankful that the nightmares had lessened considerably with Hermione to keep him company at nights, but dead Sirius still haunted his dreams from time to time.

“I’m not sure why really,” he went on, his voice creaking. “Wormtail did everything Voldemort could possibly want - he’s the only one who ever bothered to look for him, and he’s the one who brought him back...” 

Harry trailed off, a distant look in his eye. Hermione took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. An uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen of Number Twelve. 

“I wonder if Dumbledore knows about the Death Eaters in Hogwarts yet?” said Parvati worriedly after a few moments had passed. “I hope Padma’s alright.”

“I expect she will be,” Hermione replied. “I doubt Voldemort will be very interested in harming most of the students unless they cause problems for whoever he’s put in charge. I suppose it’s the muggleborn students who have the most to worry about.”

Still feeling unsettled, Harry picked his mirror up from the table and spoke into it. 

“Professor Dumbledore? ...” Harry was nearly instantly rewarded by Dumbledore’s piercing blue gaze and felt the knot in stomach unwinding. 

“Ah, Harry, I was just about to check in with you. I am pleased to see you safe and well...”

“You too, sir,” said Harry, relieved. “You made it out alright then?”

“Yes indeed,” the headmaster responded. “Fawkes proved as reliable as ever. Can I presume Miss Granger and Tonks escaped safely as well? We were certainly pushing it on time there in regards to the polyjuice potion.”

“Yeah - it was a bit touch and go at the end, Professor. We were rumbled at the very last minute, but we made it out in the nick of time. We’ve already finished off the horcrux too. There is a problem though - I just heard from Ron - Death Eaters stormed Hogwarts. It seems like Snape is in charge, but Ron has no idea that he’s still on our side.”

“Well, that is something I suppose,” sighed Dumbledore, looking troubled. “I had not expected Voldemort to openly take Hogwarts quite so soon with the Ministry at his disposal, but Severus should be able to manage things as long as everyone keeps their head down. I’ll look into it at my earliest convenience... Now on to other business. 

“First, my compliments for a job well done at the Ministry, Harry. If Miss Granger and Tonks are there with you, pass my congratulations on to them. And it is splendid to hear that Slytherin’s Locket is now destroyed...”

“Yeah,” Harry suddenly grinned, looking up at the young witch with red hair sitting across the table from him, “You can thank Ginny for that! I reckoned she should have a crack at doing a horcrux in.”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I see. Yes indeed - Miss Weasley did deserve the opportunity. Very good! ... In any case, I have no doubt that you wish to begin an immediate search for the next horcrux on our to-do list - however, for the time being, I must ask you and your companions to remain at Number Twelve, until we have at least an inkling of where to start our search.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and shot a wry look at Dora. “Okay, I suppose - as long as we don’t have to wait too long. Dora more or less said the same thing... ”

“Ah, you would do well to heed Tonks’s word. Very well then, I have some other business to attend to. I shall contact you as soon as I have any information worth imparting, but you may contact me at any time you need.”

“Alright, thanks Professor,” said Harry. “Bye for now.”

Dumbledore’s face vanished from the mirror, leaving Harry in a much better mood as he returned it to his pocket.

“Right,” said Dora, “Now that’s outta the way, how about we get some dinner. I’m famished.”

“Just one more thing first,” said Harry. “I think maybe I should give Kreacher the Locket, so he knows that it’s over.”

“Of course,” Hermione beamed. “That’s a lovely idea Harry. He should be able to move on now, knowing that Regulus’s final request has been fulfilled...”

**~o0o~**

Draco paled, his chest tightening when he was called to the headmaster’s office. Reaching the top of the spiral staircase after the Gargoyle sourly let him pass, he rapped the brass handle three times on the sturdy oak door.

“Enter,” Snape’s voice called out from within. 

Draco opened the door slowly; he swallowed nervously to see Snape staring coldly at him. Snape gestured at a rigid wooden chair in front of the desk.

“S...sir?” said Draco, taking his seat.

“I was hoping to see Weasley at the conclusion of dinner,” Snape responded, his dark eyes glittering dangerously, “but I am told that he has disappeared - vanished into thin air apparently. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Er... I’m n...not sure,” Draco stammered. 

“Do not lie to me Draco. You should know better than that.”

“Okay! P...please, sir, don’t tell the Dark Lord. I... I thought I saw someone slip out the front doors. I followed to see wh...who it was. It was Weasley and his girlfriend. I tried to stop them, b...but all of my spells kept missing somehow. Weasley stunned me, and when I came to... he was gone.” Draco gulped.

Snape’s taut features relaxed slightly and he sighed. 

“Thank you for the truth, Draco - I am well aware that you had designs on your prey, and would not have easily let him escape if you could help it. I suspect some sort of magic prevented your spells from hitting their mark - perhaps Felix Felicis. I know Slughorn had some available earlier this year. ... The Dark Lord will not be pleased, but I will do what I can to soften the blow. 

“It was not entirely your fault after all. Indeed, of all those Death Eaters stationed here, you were the only one with the presence of mind to notice that Weasley was gone. That alone should grant you some measure of reprieve. I will vouch for you and suggest that Weasley was already too distant for your spells to reach him. 

“I did, after all, promise your mother that I would do my best to look after your interests, and it is close enough to the truth in any case.”

Draco heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. I won’t fail the Dark Lord again - I promise.”

“Very good,” said Snape, giving him a curt nod. “That will be all, Draco.”

**~o0o~**

Kreacher was so overcome with emotion that he burst into tears when Harry gave him the damaged Locket. Sobbing, Kreacher fell to his knees, his bat-like ears quivering as he prostrated himself on the kitchen floor.

“Thank you Master! Thank you!” the house-elf wailed, big fat tears rolling down his little cheeks. “Master Harry is keeping his promise to Kreacher - is helping Kreacher keep his promise to Master Regulus! Kreacher is good elf again...”

“Kreacher, get up, please,” said Harry, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as glanced at the others. “You don’t have to bow to me. Anyway, it wasn’t just me. Hermione and Dora helped me get it, and Ginny is the one who actually destroyed the Locket...”

“But only because you gave it to me, Harry,” said Ginny quickly, surprised at the wizened old house-elf’s about-face when Kreacher obeyed Harry and clambered to his feet. 

“Missy Weasley? She kills the locket?” Kreacher’s bulbous eyes boggled. He bowed towards Ginny. “Thank you, Missy Weasley, for helping my Master.” 

Ginny couldn’t quite believe it. The last time she had seen Kreacher he had been giving her the evil-eye and muttering things like “Blood-Traitor Brat” and other, much nastier things under his breath about her under his breath at every opportunity.

“Oh, erm... you’re welcome, Kreacher,” said Ginny, still trying to wrap her head around the change which had come over him. Kreacher returned his attention to Harry.

“What are Master’s orders?” asked Kreacher. “What service can Kreacher provide?”

“Er, if... if you want, you can return to Hogwarts,” said Harry awkwardly, “but only if you want to.”

“Kreacher wishes only to serve Master Harry and his Mistress,” Kreacher croaked, his eyeballs flickering towards Hermione. “Kreacher is not wanting to work at Hogwarts.”

Harry sighed and glanced at Hermione questioningly. 

She bit her lip, appearing torn, and shrugged. “If... if that’s what he really wants, Harry. It’s Kreacher’s choice”

“Yeah, alright Kreacher,” Harry relented after a moment, nodding, “You can work for me then.”

“Thank you Master Harry!” The house-elf gave a little bow, apparently having not taken Harry’s earlier admonition as a direct order. “Perhaps Master and Mistress and their friends are hungry. Kreacher can make dinner.”

“Er... okay! Sounds great,” said Harry, thinking that having a servant would take some getting used to. “Thanks Kreacher. But first, why don’t you get cleaned up and change into something decent. Surely there are some nice clean towels or something left around somewhere - I doubt Mundungus nicked those.”

“Yes Master Harry sir. Kreacher will do as you please...” 

The ancient house-elf vanished from the kitchen with a crack. As exhaustion from the long day began to set in, Harry and the troupe of witches retired to one of Number Twelve’s parlours and slumped on the sofas. 

Soon they heard sounds of clanging pots and pans in the kitchen, and when they next saw Kreacher, he was like a different house-elf altogether, wearing a fluffy white towel, and his ear hair as clean and white as spun cotton. Harry finally noticed that he was wearing Regulus’s locket - the one Harry had given him at Hogwarts.

Kreacher arrived in the parlour with a hovering silver tray that Mundungus Fletcher had missed, laden with a feast as bountiful and delicious smelling as those at Hogwarts. With a wave of his knobbly hands, the tray floated across the room and came to rest on a mahogany coffee table, and with a snap of his fingers, the logs in the fireplace burst into flame, bathing the parlour in a warm orange glow.

“If Master is needing anything else, just call,” said Kreacher, then he vanished once more. 

“Where did all this food come from?” Parvati marveled as she dug into the shepherd’s pie. “Surely anything in the pantry would have spoiled if nobody’s been here for ages.”

“Well, it was headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix for a while until recently,” Hermione replied while forking a piece of roast chicken . “I expect there was some left over food in the fridge or at least some tins of food for Kreacher to work with.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” said Dora as she carved herself a slab from the roast beef and grabbed a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “Mad Eye... er, Moody and I were holin’ up here over the Christmas Holidays - left a load of tins in the pantry - and the fridge is magical, so whatever was left in there should’ve still been fresh enough. Dunno if anyone else ‘as been here since though - doubt it as there hasn’t been a meeting here for ages and most of the Order’s been off on other assigments...” 

After dinner was finished, Kreacher served up some treacle tart and trifle for dessert. Soon everyone was rubbing their bellies in satisfaction and yawning. Harry was just about to find rooms for everyone when they were interrupted by a loud pop, startling the lot of them. Parvati squealed and Dora’s wand was instantly in her hand. 

Luna looked on with great interest, and Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Dobby struggling with a very irate looking snowy owl, and an even angrier hissing, spitting, orange ball of fur.

Apparently Hedwig and Crookshanks didn’t think very much of traveling by apparition. The badly scratched but gleeful looking Dobby released Hedwig and Crookshanks. The owl flew to the top of a tall highly polished mahogany bookcase squawking furiously at him, and the cat simply turned his back on the House-Elf, wagging his bushy tail crossly.

“Dobby is rescuing Harry Potter’s and Missy Granger’s owl and cat,” squeaked the delighted house-elf.

“Er... thank you very much Dobby!” said Harry, torn between bemusement and concern.

“Oh you poor thing,” Hermione dabbed at Dobby’s bleeding claw and peck marks with her hanky. “You really didn’t have to bring Hedwig...”

“...I told Hedwig this is one of the places to look for me if I ever had to leave Hogwarts,” Harry continued.

“But thank you for bringing Crookshanks,” said Hermione. “Lavender was going to look after him, but she left Hogwarts with Ron.”

“Dobby knows,” squeaked Dobby. “Dobby overhears Missy Granger making plans with Missy Brown, then Dobby sees Harry Potter’s Weasley running away with Missy Brown tonight, and Dobby knows that Missy Granger is being sad without her cat. ... But it be too dangerous for Harry Potter’s owl to fly to London. Dobby overhears Death Eaters plan to find Harry Potter’s owl and put tracking spell on her - they might be hurting her.”

“Oh... you did the right thing then Dobby.” said Harry, giving Hedwig a reproachful eye. 

Hedwig sheepishly turned her face away and hooted apologetically at Dobby. Hermione raised her eyebrows at her cat; Crookshanks looked a bit ashamed of himself.

“Anyway, thanks again Dobby,” said Harry. “That was brilliant! You should probably go back to Hogwarts and get some sleep...”

“But Dobby is not wanting to go back to Hogwarts,” the house-elf moaned. “Dobby is wanting to work for Harry Potter, sir.”

Harry groaned and palmed his face, rubbing at his forehead and aching scar; he glanced at Hermione who unhelpfully looked amused. Ginny, Luna, and Parvati all did their best to stifle their giggles.

“Er... I sort of have a house-elf already, Dobby.” Harry gave Dobby an apologetic look. 

“Yes, Dobby knows that too. Kreacher is Harry Potter’s house-elf, but Dobby is also wanting to work for Harry Potter.” Dobby peered at Harry pleadingly.

“Okay, _fine!”_ Harry sighed resignedly. “I don’t really want you to have to work at Hogwarts with Death Eaters running the place anyway. If Malfoy shows up, he might cause trouble for you. But you’re my friend, and if you’re going to work for me I’m paying you ten galleons a week, none of this one galleon a week rubbish.”

“That is being too much sir, but Dobby is willing to settle for two galleons a week if Harry Potter insists on paying Dobby more.” 

Harry shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, understanding now how Dobby had managed to haggle Dumbledore down to one galleon a week. He supposed that Dobby might have accepted more if Dumbledore had been a preferred employer - Dobby had probably been hopeful to eventually work for Harry one day.

“Alright then, _**five**_ galleons a week,” said Harry, smiling ironically, “but no less. And you and Kreacher will have to work out with each other how best to divvy up the chores.”

“Then Dobby graciously accepts Master Harry’s generous offer,” Dobby beamed. “What can Dobby be doing for Master Harry first?”

“Find yourself a room and get some sleep,” said Harry. 

“A room?” Dobby squeaked, his eyes bulging in shock. “Dobby is sharing a room with many house-elfs at Hogwarts, but you is giving Dobby a whole room to himself?”

“Yeah, I am! You and Kreacher can both have your own rooms. This place has loads of spare bedrooms - I don’t see any reason why either of you should live in ratty nests or have to share, unless you want to of course.”

“Master Harry is too good to Dobby, but if that is Master’s wish,” said Dobby, his eyes brimming with happy tears.

“It is. Now go on, off to bed.”

Dobby vanished with a pop. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Blimey! I hope that’s it,” he said ruefully. “If Winky shows up begging for work too...”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and gave Harry a look. “Then you’ll let her, won’t you?”

“Er... I will?” Harry gawked at Hermione in surprise.

“Yes, you will!” said Hermione firmly. “I don’t like the idea any more than you do, Harry. If I had my way, they would all be getting paid, and having holidays, and sick leave, and be allowed to wear clothes, and be free to work for whoever they liked without any magical coercion. But I’m well aware that won’t be happening any time soon - not until there are some big changes in the wizard world. ... And in the meantime Kreacher and Winky couldn’t do better than to work for someone as kind as you if they really want to work without any pay.”

“But what would I do with _three_ house-elves?” Harry grumbled. “There wouldn’t be enough work to go round... unless...” A brainwave suddenly hit Harry full force. “...unless one of them wouldn’t mind working for someone else. Hey,” said Harry eagerly, “what if I told Dobby to ask Winky if she would like to work for the Weasleys? Then Winky would have a proper family to look after.”

“I’m not sure, Harry.” Hermione looked a bit dubious “What do you think?” she asked Ginny. “Would your mum actually like to have a house-elf working for her?”

Ginny’s pinched her lower lip, her expression pensive. “Maybe. I don’t really know....”

“I’m pretty sure she would,” said Harry. “Ron told me once that your mum had sometimes wished she had a house-elf.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Of course _Ron_ would say that! He’s always wanted one so he wouldn’t have to do so many chores. ... But still, mum might like having some extra help around - especially when the whole family is at home. I could ask her I suppose.”

“Right! That’s decided then,” Harry grinned. “I’ll tell Dobby to ask Winky, and you can ask your mum.”

“Great,” said Dora, smirking, “If that’s it for now, then maybe it’s time for us to catch a few winks...”

It didn’t take long to find rooms for everyone. Ginny and Luna took the room which Ginny had shared with Hermione the previous summer. Parvati was offered a room of her own, but feeling a bit creeped out in Number Twelve - which still had an air of foreboding despite the thorough purging of Dark artifacts - she opted to share a room with Dora. 

And Hermione was more than happy to settle in the room with Harry which he and Ron had shared the previous summer, and thankful that Harry’s four-poster bed was big enough for the two of them. As they began to get ready for bed, Harry glanced at the wall above the fireplace, his eyes narrowing.

“Hang on Hermione,” he muttered, just as she was about to trade her t-shirt and jeans for a nightie. “I’ve just got to take care of one thing first.”

 _“Oh!”_ Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with shock when she realised what she had just been about to do. She watched Harry climb on a chair to lift the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black off the wall.

“Wait! Stop! Put me down, Potter!” barked the surly portrait of Sirius’s ancestor. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“A bit of privacy,” Harry retorted. 

“ _What?_ But I would never...” said Phineas Nigellus in a wounded tone.

“Right! And I’m just going to make sure you don’t,” Harry shot back. “You’re going in the hallway for now. Don’t worry - I’ll have Kreacher or Dobby find a more suitable place for you tomorrow, perhaps the library.”

“I suppose - if you must,” Phineas Nigellus replied sourly. “Just be careful not to... _ow!_ ... Watch the doorframe, Potter!” 

“Sorry!” said Harry as he leaned the large portrait against the wall in the hallway. “G’night Headmaster Black!”

Harry shut the door, unable to help letting out a little chuckle; he was still annoyed with Phineas Nigellus for taunting him the Christmas before last. 

“Thank you, Harry,” said Hermione, the relief in her voice unmistakable.

“No problem, Hermione! ... Just thought you’d rather not give Phineas Nigellus an eyeful.”

Finally, after changing and cleaning their teeth, Harry lay in bed under the covers with Hermione snuggled against him, an arm across his chest and her bushy head on his shoulder. Pleasant thoughts drifted through Harry’s mind. 

Another horcrux down, only two more to go, and he was feeling more optimistic about eventually ridding himself of the piece of Voldemort within than he had been earlier that evening while his scar was still on fire. And somehow, with Hermione beside him, the reminder of Sirius’s death all around him wasn’t quite so painful - and Number Twelve was beginning to feel more like home.

Hermione sighed contentedly, peace washing over her, happy to sense Harry finally relaxing after such an eventful evening...


	22. Blue Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more explicit version of this chapter is now available in _Damaged Bridges: The Steamy Chapters._

Harry felt even better the following morning when he woke; glancing at the clock, he realised that was because they had slept in quite late, as exhausted as they had been last night. It was nearly eleven, an unthinkable hour to wake up at Hogwarts, even over the Christmas Holidays.

But they were at home... Home! There it was again, that feeling he’d had last night. This morning Number Twelve felt more like home than ever, and with Hermione by his side, more like home than he had ever thought possible since Sirius had died.

Hermione was still asleep, still nestled beside him, her arm still across his chest, and her messy tresses still spilling over the shoulder her head was resting on. He inhaled deeply and let out a contented sigh, then kissed her bushy head. She shifted slightly, stirring, a smile creeping to her lips. 

“Mmm... still sleepy,” she murmured. 

“Too sleepy for kisses?”

Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered open. “Never too sleepy for kisses!”

“You were last night!” 

Hermione poked him in the ribs. “ _ **You**_ were too sleepy last night! Not that I blame you - I know how much doing in a horcrux takes out of you.”

“Fair point,” said Harry, grinning. “Well I’m ready to make up for it now...”

**~o0o~**

Hermione beamed at Harry, feeling happier and freer somehow than she had any right to feel. Nothing really had changed (other than killing another horcrux, which was always a relief).

Things were growing progressively darker in the wider world. Hogwarts had been taken over by Death Eaters. Warrants for her and Harry’s and Dumbledore’s arrests had no doubt already been issued; and the Minister was quickly dropping any pretense of moderation and neutrality and would probably be openly declaring the Ministry’s alignment with Voldemort any day now.

But Hermione had Harry; whatever residual ill-feelings she’d had from her encounter with McLaggen were long gone, and she knew that she and Harry could face anything as long as they were together. 

And they had Dora and some of their friends to keep them company as well. Number Twelve - which had felt gloomy and dismal in the best of times - had never felt so homey. Hermione had never noticed the luxurious feel of the silk sheets before, and she wanted to feel it directly against her skin.

She quickly tugged off her nightie and chucked it to the end of the bed startling both Harry and Crookshanks, who quickly leapt off the bed and darted through a magically appearing cat-flap in the door leading to the adjoining room.

“This is the first time we’ve actually slept together in Grimmauld Place, you know,” she purred as she undid the buttons of Harry’s pyjama top, and gazed into Harry’s surprised looking green orbs. “I think we can do a bit better than just kisses to mark the occasion, don’t you?”

“Er... Yeah! That’s another fair point,” Harry agreed, grinning as she was now straddling his waist, trailing her fingers across his bare chest and kissing his neck. “Much better than sharing the room with Ron,” he quipped.

Hermione quivered, tingles of arousal shooting through her, heart racing, as Harry responded, kissing whatever part of her head he could reach while she continued nuzzling his neck, and his hands slid along her bare skin to her waist. Hermione’s lips finally met his heatedly. 

She moved in sync with Harry, a heady rush sweeping through her. The bed began to rock, the satiny sheets falling away from her backside. 

The ardour built to a feverish pitch. Another wave flooded Hermione’s senses as they both peaked. Lost in a tidal surge of bliss, merged as one, the stars came out again and the room trembled in a rainbow coloured flash of lightning.

Hermione slumped against Harry, both of them gasping, eddies of giddiness still swirling around them. 

“Erm...” said Harry, when he began to come out of his daze, “Did we just do it again?”

Hermione giggled at his choice of words.

“I mean...”

“Yes Harry, I know what you mean. And yes, I think we just had another accidental release of magic...”

A knock on the door interrupted Hermione; her eyes widened.

“Oi, you two okay in there? ... Sounded like a bloody earthquake!”

“Oh, that’s alright Dora,” Hermione heard Luna’s voice say on the other side of the door, “They’re just having sex. It’s accidental sex magic...”

“Wait,” said Dora’s voice, “how would you kn...? Never mind. I don’t think I wanna know.”

Harry groaned and covered his red face with both hands; Hermione collapsed on him giggling, her own face burning.

**~o0o~**

Showered and dressed, Harry and Hermione, unable to quite meet anyone’s eyes, their faces still pink, ate a late breakfast provided for by Dobby and Kreacher. Full of eggs and bacon and buttery crumpets, and orange juice and tea, the first thing Harry did was retrieve his mirror from one of his pockets.

“I really ought to give Ron a call back,” he said when Hermione peered at him questioningly. “Let him know that we’re alright and see how he’s doing.”

“Oh, of course,” said Hermione, remembering the message that Ron had left yesterday evening. 

“Oi, Ron... you there?” said Harry, tapping his mirror. “Ron,” he called out again. 

“Hmm... maybe he’s having lunch,” Harry muttered. “One more time then... Hey, Ron... Okay, well I guess I’ll just leave a message...” 

Harry was interrupted by a scrabbling sound coming through his mirror and then Ron’s strangely flushed face appearing against the backdrop of his room. 

“Er... Hi Harry!” Ron grinned. “Sorry about that. I was just... erm...” 

Harry heard a giggle in the background and then Mrs Weasley’s sharp voice, which sounded like it was coming through Ron’s door, calling out, “What are you two up to in there? Why is your door closed?”

“Nothing Mum!” Ron shouted back, looking guilty, his ears reddening. “I’m just talking to Harry on the mirror he gave me - Lavender just happens to be with me.”

“Alright then! ... But I want that door open when you and Lavender are hanging out.”

“Sure thing Mum! No problem!”

Harry heard footsteps fading and Ron muttering under his breath, “Blimey, a bloke can’t get any privacy around here.” Harry grinned.

“So what _were_ you getting up to?” he asked innocently, getting a swat on the shoulder from Hermione for his trouble.

“Oh... er,” Ron grinned sheepishly, “you know, just a bit of snogging. Hopefully me and Lavender will get a bit of privacy soon though. We’re headed to Bill and Fleur’s new place tomorrow.”

“Huh! How come?” Harry asked, feeling a bit puzzled.

“Just in case Death Eaters come looking for me here and the Protection Charms fail. Mum and Dad both reckon I’ll be safer there ‘cause nobody else really knows about it. Lavender’s mum and dad are cool with it because they want Lavender to be safe, just in case they run into any trouble too.”

“Ah! That makes sense then,” said Harry, nodding.

“So what about you and Hermione then? The _Prophet_ had a brief mention that you’d been spotted at the Ministry last night, but the Ministry hasn’t issued a statement yet. What’s that all about?”

“Erm...” Harry shot Hermione a quick glance, but then reckoned they had a reasonable explanation. “Dumbledore sort of turned himself in to the Ministry - just for an interview really - to answer any questions and to try and dissuade them from arresting him. Hermione and Dora and I - we were there in disguise - polyjuiced - to back Dumbledore up just in case things went south - then the polyjuice wore off.” 

“Blimey!” Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, “You’re really doing it then - being part of the Order I mean! It’s probably for the best that I didn’t join you lot then - at least as far as Mum is concerned! I’d never hear the end of it if I’d gone on a secret mission like that. She’d probably murder me if I got killed.”

Harry grinned. “Oh come on! Your mum’s not _that_ bad!”

“Have you _met_ my mum?” Ron chortled. “Anyway, I’m glad you and Hermione are safe...”

“I am too!” Lavender’s beaming face appeared in the mirror behind Ron’s. “Tell Parvati for me that I’m glad she’s safe as well, and that I miss her.”

“I’m here,” said Parvati, leaning over Harry’s shoulder so that Lavender could see her. “You two - look after each other alright.”

“Yeah, same to you too,” said Ron, “and if Ginny’s there...”

“I am,” Ginny yelled. “Thanks Ron! Hope you and Lav get some alone time...”

“Speaking of which, I’d better get going,” said Ron, rolling his eyes, “before Mum storms back up here again and has a blue fit! ...”

**~o0o~**

Dora sighed when she pushed back her breakfast plate, barely touched. They had only been holed up in Number Twelve a few days now and the inhabitants were already growing restless - mostly Harry. She had tried to reassure Harry that the moment Dumbledore had a lead on the whereabouts of Hufflepuff’s Cup, they would be called upon to follow up and help locate it.

In the meantime, Harry and Hermione and the rest were doing their best to keep busy the only way they knew how, fortifying one of the cellars for the purpose of continuing their training, and studying the books in the extensive collection in Number Twelve’s library. 

Dora decided to leave the others to it, feeling a bit queasy, and she was experiencing another one of the strange mood swings. She’d been quite cheerful the night before and during breakfast the feeling had evaporated, leaving a gaping void in her heart. Her usually bright hair was listless and a muted shade of pink.

Hermione gave her a questioning look.

“You alright, Dora?” Parvati asked, looking concerned. “You seemed okay when we went to bed last night.”

“Oh, er... yeah! I’m fine, love! ... Just feelin’ a little green around the gills. I think I’ll just go lie down for a bit.” 

Dora headed back up to the room she was sharing with Parvati, hoping the nausea and depression would eventually fade. But her stomach began to lurch and the next thing she knew, Dora was making a mad dash to the bathroom. She reached it in the nick of time; Dora hunched over the loo and heaved several times. 

Gasping, as the nausea faded, Dora clambered to her feet and flushed the toilet. She washed her face and looked in the mirror as she toweled it off. An odd thought in the back of her mind made its way to her frontal lobes. 

“No, it couldn’t be,” Dora muttered to herself, “...it couldn’t be.”

She was almost afraid to, but she knew she had to. Dora took out her wand and performed a basic Diagnostic Charm on herself. A slip of parchment conjured from thin air fluttered to the floor, and as she bent down to pick it up, Hermione and Parvati burst through the open doorway, both looking alarmed.

“We heard you throwing up,” said Hermione. “Are you alright?”

Dora’s eyes boggled when she peered at the slip of parchment. No wonder she’d missed her period.

“I’m pregnant!” she moaned and the slip vanished back into thin air.

For a moment there was silence as everyone peered at each other, stunned by the news; Dora flushed with embarrassment.

“Wait... how...?” Parvati began, looking very puzzled, “I mean I know _how_ , but who... I thought you liked girls?”

“Remus,” Dora groaned. 

_“Professor Lupin?”_ Parvati gasped. “You mean you and Professor Lupin...?” Parvati trailed off, reddening. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “It’s really none of my business.”

“It’s alright, Parvati,” Dora sighed. “No worries - I’m an open book. It’s true, I do prefer girls for the most part - but there’s a few guys I’ve liked too. And I kind of had it bad for Remus... he’s just a real sweet’eart.”

“But when...?”

“When he came to visit Hogwarts last month,” Hermione said quietly, “five or six weeks ago...”

“That’s about right,” said Dora glumly. “I was so thrilled to see ‘im, I forgot to use a Contraception Charm.”

“But... that’s alright, isn’t it?” asked Parvati. “I mean - you love him.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Dora, struggling to hold back the tears. “But I was managing to deal with the fact that we’d only ever be friends until right now. We agreed it would just be a one-off, ‘cause Remus... well, he doesn’t think he’s good relationship material - because of being a werewolf, see.”

“Oh!” Parvati bit her lip, on the verge of tears herself. 

“I’m sorry, Dora,” Hermione murmured, wrapping her arms around Dora in a hug. “Whatever happens, you’ll always have Harry and me. You’re more than a friend - you’re family...” 

The next thing she knew, Dora was crying in earnest and she felt Parvati’s arms around her as well.

“Er... erm... What’s going on?” she heard Harry’s voice asking from the doorway...

**~o0o~**

Remus drained the last of his ale from the tankard and wiped the foam from his moustache with a napkin, wondering when the others were going to arrive. They were already twenty minutes late.

The young woman behind the bar washing mugs and glasses dried her hands when she saw the middle aged wizard in tatty clothes had finished his ale.

“Would you like another, love?” she asked.

Remus considered his options. He could wait - they would probably arrive eventually - or he could leave and risk missing some information which was potentially vital to the Order.

“Yes please,” said Remus with a sigh after a moment had passed. 

“Alright then.” The young barkeeper gave Remus a canny look as she lifted the tankard from the polished mahogany bar-top. “How about something to eat then, love?” she called back while she filled his tankard from the barrel at the rear of the bar.

Remus had to admit he was getting hungry; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and this pub seemed as good a place as any to have some dinner. He checked his money pouch to see if he had enough and was pleased to see that he did.

“Yes please,” he said with a smile as she set the freshly filled tankard in front of him. “Some fish and chips would be very nice.”

“Well aren’t you the polite one? Wish I had more customers like you,” The young blonde barkeeper beamed at him. “Usually it’s ‘Oi, wench - gimme some grub,’ and, ‘fancy a real bloke?’ in here. I’ll just let the cook know an’ be right back then.” 

As he watched the pretty barkeeper make her way to the kitchen, Remus couldn’t help feeling a pang. The young woman couldn’t be any older than Dora, and yet for all of her toughness, Dora seemed even younger somehow. Her joyful exuberance, her love of muggle pop culture, her fresh faced features; Dora was still a teenager in his eyes. Remus caught his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar, taking note of his crow’s feet and prematurely greying hair; he felt old.

As much as he missed Dora, Remus was sure she was better off without him.

Fifteen minutes later and Remus was sitting in front of a piping hot pile of fish and chips. He sprinkled some salt and drizzled some malt vinegar over the lot. He had just eaten his first chip when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and glanced at the unfamiliar face with a scraggly beard and unkempt hair.

“You Remus Lupin, mate?” 

“That would be me,” Remus replied with a wry smile, raising his eyebrows.

For all his rough demeanor, the man had the decency to look abashed.

“Yeah, alright! Sorry ‘bout bein’ so late. Why don’tcha bring that over t’the booth so’s we can all have a nice chat, all quiet like with the others?”

“Very well, then.” Remus clambered off his barstool and followed the man to a booth in a more dimly lit corner of the tavern.

Remus grimaced and shot the attractive barkeeper an apologetic look when one of the other men called out, “Oi, lass - ‘ow about some lagers all the way around?”

Remus quickly wolfed down a piece of battered fish and a handful of chips while they waited for the barkeeper to bring four frothy lagers and set them on the table. One of the other werewolves ogled her behind as she strolled back to the bar.

“That’s a pretty bird, she is. Wouldn’t mind givin’ that one a good rogering!”

“Keep it in yer pants Gary!” growled the werewolf who had invited Remus to the booth. “We’re s’posed t’be keepin’ a low profile. The last thing we need is for you t’be causin’ trouble ”

“Ah, piss off mate! Don’t be such a wet blanket! Just ‘avin’ a bit o’ fun.”

“Go bugger yourself Gary!” said the werewolf who hadn’t spoken yet. “We’re here to see who’s in or out, not to have fun.” The werewolf turned and nodded at Remus. “Don’t mind him! He’s barely outta his nappies - can’t go five minutes without sportin’ a stiffy... Anyway, I’m Ben, the bloke ‘oo brung you over is Max...”

“Right, now that we’ve got introductions outta the way,” Max began, “you all know the reason we’re here. Greyback’s recruiting again, and our packs are the last few holdouts. So we’re feelin’ things out to see where our packs currently stand. If anyone’s out, it doesn’t go beyond any of us and our pack leaders so there ain’t gonna be no reprisals.”

“Well, our lot is definitely out,” said Ben. “We’re nearly all muggles ‘oo got bit - only a couple’a wizards in our lot. We’d be sittin’ ducks either way in our human form - so we’re just gonna sit this one out - find ourselves a nice quiet place to lay low and nick a few sheep every now and then.”

“We’re about half and half,” said Max, “Not sure what’s gonna happen if most of the wizards in our bunch throw in with the Dark Lord. I’m a wizard, but I’m not sure I wanna get in the middle’a things either. I’m thinkin’ the muggle werewolves’ll need a couple wizards to help them stay safe, so I’ll probably just stick with ‘em... what about you, Remus?”

“Personally, I share your reservations, Max, and yours, Ben,” Remus replied, sighing. “But most of us are wizards and pack leader Maugrim has already indicated that we’re going to be joining up with Greyback to help get the Dark Lord’s ‘Snatcher’ units up and running - I’m considering doing a bunk myself, but it’s a big risk for me. ... Maugrim is not known for letting anyone just leave the pack.”

“Well, if ye do, you could always throw in with us mate,” said Ben. “We could always use another wizard or two t’help keep us safe.”

“I’ll definitely consider it,” said Remus, “Though if I’m being hunted, it may not make you any safer.”

“ _Our_ leader ain’t so possessive,” said Max, “so if our pack splits up, maybe the rest of us should join your lot, Ben.”

“Sounds good to me.” Ben nodded. “Our pack leader is open to anyone ‘oo just wants to stay out of things.”

“Right then,” said Max, turning to Gary, “So what about you and your pack then?”

“Mostly wizards,” Gary said with a shrug. “For meself, I’m planning on joining the Dark Lord, and our pack leader’s leanin’ the same way. .... And why not? What ‘ave the Ministry ever done for us? They just keep pushin’ us down - makin’ it impossible to get a job or find a decent place t’live! ... At least the Dark Lord’ll give us back a way t’make a living, give us a bit of a chance for a bit o’ self-respect.”

“Well,” said Lupin slowly, “I certainly understand your sentiments Gary. I don’t think any one of us here would advocate siding with the Ministry. But here’s the thing, the Dark Lord has his own agenda, and it only involves werewolves insofar as he can use us. The Dark Lord has no more respect for us than he does for muggles and muggleborn wizards - or else why not make Greyback a full Death Eater...?”

“You mean ‘e ain’t a Death Eater?” Gary looked honestly surprised. “But ‘e’s been goin’ around tellin’ everyone ‘e is.”

“I have it on very good authority,” said Lupin. “Severus Snape was at one time a colleague of mine...”

“Blimey mate!” Ben’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s one scary bloke! Even I wouldn’t wanna cross him - he’s one of the Dark Lord’s favourites isn’e, since he got the boot from Hogwarts? Heard he was a vampire and he certainly looks the part.”

“Don’t believe _everything_ you hear.” Lupin’s moustache twitched and his eyes crinkled with mirth. “In any case, before anyone makes a final decision, consider this, the Dark Lord and the Ministry are now aligned - so that should give us all pause as to what he really has planned for us...”

“You’re jokin’!” said Gary. “That can’t be right!”

“Isn’t it?” Lupin retrieved a rumpled copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from within his cloak. “Dolores Umbridge is the one who pushed through the anti-werewolf legislation a few years ago. She’s the one who cost me my job at Hogwarts... and now she’s Minister...”

“Well there you go mate...”

“Not so fast, Gary. Who’s she been going after since she became Minister? The Dark Lord? No! Minister Umbridge has her sights fixed on Dumbledore, and look at this - today’s paper - now she is taking credit for the Dark Lord’s takeover of Hogwarts - if that isn’t a sign of alignment, I don’t know what is.”

Remus opened the newspaper and laid it on the table for all to see. Gary took one look at the headline and snatched it up.

**Minister Confirms Takeover of Hogwarts Was Ministry Operation**

_Minister Dolores Umbridge, confirms that the takeover of Hogwarts at the weekend was in fact a Ministry operation, taken when Dumbledore escaped from custody after his interview Friday night with Ministry officials, which further implicated him in the disappearance of former Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour._

_It has also been confirmed, that several of You-Know-Who’s top lieutenants took part in the operation, including Severus Snape, who we now know was surreptitiously sacked by Dumbledore, rather than being taken ill, as had previously been reported._

_According to Minister Umbridge, this secret sacking of Severus Snape is in keeping with new information uncovered by a joint investigation conducted by the DMLE and the Unspeakable Office, revealing that it was Dumbledore himself who was plotting against the Ministry, in his bid to violently subjugate Pureblood wizards with an army of Muggleborns._

_Minister Umbridge confirms that You-Know-Who’s vilification by Dumbledore was nothing more than a smokescreen to hide his own conspiracy. This sheds an entirely new light on the last war, from which it can now be understood that You-Know-Who had taken up arms in a legitimate grievance against an increasingly corrupt Ministry ensnared in Dumbledore’s web of intrigue and deceit._

_Following the Ministry operation, Severus Snape has since been appointed to the position of Headmaster, a role for which he is eminently suited._

_In a closely related story, it has also been confirmed that Harry Potter and his muggleborn fiancee, Hermione Granger, were indeed seen fleeing the Ministry last Friday evening, after helping Dumbledore escape Ministry confines, and arrest warrants have been issued for all..._

“Bloody hell!” Gary gasped. “You weren’t jokin’ at all! Blimey! This throws a spanner in things, don’ it?” Gary looked up at Remus, his face pale. “Oi, mind if I keep this? ... I don’t think our pack leader’s seen this. He’ll probably wanna rethink things - the only reason we was thinkin’ o’ joinin’ the Dark Lord was to get ourselves a fair shake, but if he’s in with that bitch Umbridge... Blimey! ... Well, that says it all, don’ it?”

“It does indeed,” Remus agreed, letting out a sigh. “Sadly, I don’t think Maugrim sees it that way. Like Greyback, I think he is more keen on tasting human flesh, and most of the others in my pack feel the same as he...”

Remus paused when he saw that everyone around the table looked extremely uncomfortable - even rather ill - at that. It was clear that they, like Remus, were more inclined to maintain control over their wolfish urges rather than to embrace them.

“...which is why I cannot remain in my pack of course,” he concluded.

“Well my offer still stands mate,” said Ben hoarsely. “You wan’ outta your pack, and we could use another wizard in ours.”

Max looked pensive, then slowly nodded. “I think I’ll be able to convince at least some o’ the wizards in our bunch to stick with the muggle werewolves now. If you’ll have us, we’ll join up with your lot too, Ben.”

Ben looked pleased - eager even. “I don’ see any problem with that. So what about your lot, Gary - you’re mostly wizards. Care to join us?”

“Can’t promise anything,” Gary muttered, still scowling at the moving image of Umbridge on the front page. “But most of us are more about gettin’ a fair shake than gettin’ a free pass to eat people - so there’s a good chance most of us’ll join you. ... Not sure we’ll be totally comfortable with just sittin’ on the sidelines though while Umbridge and Voldy hammer Britain - we’re more about _fightin’_ for what’s owed us!”

Remus smiled; that was exactly the attitude needed if he hoped to get some werewolves to ally with the Order. He raised his eyebrows at Ben and Max who were both looking a bit hesitant. 

“Well, I rather think Gary’s got a point,” Remus opined. “But it’s probably best to just pull as many of us together as possible and find a safe place while we work out the best way forward to begin with. ... Obviously the muggle werewolves won’t be able to join the fight in the same way that wizards can - but that doesn’t mean they’re totally defenceless if we can get our hands on some muggle weapons...”

There was a look of surprise around the table. The others hadn’t even considered that...


	23. The Chalice and the Blade

Dora hadn’t been much in the mood for eating the rest of the day, but by the evening she felt better enough to join the others in the library when she heard them finishing dinner. She entered the room stuffed from floor to ceiling with heavily laden bookshelves to see everyone either sitting at the table or lounging in the more comfortable armchairs, having just started a discussion.

She came in just in time to hear Harry saying, “...great to keep training and studying, but I feel like I’ve got to _**do**_ something! I don’t want to just sit around waiting for Dumbledore to come up with leads on where to find Hufflepuff’s Cup. I don’t see why we can’t do a bit of brainstorming ourselves and come up with a place to start looking.”

“Of course we should, Harry!” said Hermione. “That’s perfectly sensible...”

“But where would we start?” asked Parvati. “Dumbledore already found the one where You-Kn... _Voldemort’s_ grandfather and mum used to live...”

“...and we found the one at Hogwarts,” Hermione added.

“...and the one which was originally in a place where the Orphanage people had taken Tom Riddle to when he was a kid,” said Harry. 

“...and the one that horrible Mr Malfoy gave Ginny,” said Luna, with a glance at her girlfriend who looked a bit disturbed.

“So besides the snake, which is going to be with Voldemort wherever he’s hiding out, there’s only the Cup left,” sighed Harry, “and the others have already been in the most obvious places we could think of...”

“You don’t think he could have hidden _two_ Horcruxes at Hogwarts do you?” asked Parvati.

“It’s doubtful,” said Hermione. “I would think that he would want to hedge his bets by having all of them in different locations.”

“Right,” Harry agreed, looking frustrated, “and for the life of me, I can’t think of any other place that Dumbledore and I have discussed which might have meant something to Voldemort...”

“Well,” chimed in Ginny for the first time after taking a deep breath, “he did give the Diary to Mr Malfoy for safekeeping. Do you think he might have given Hufflepuff’s Cup to another one of his top Death Eaters?”

“I dunno,” said Harry, sounding a bit skeptical, “The Diary was the first one he made, and I could see him giving _that_ one to a Death Eater to give to one of their kids to take to Hogwarts some day to open the Chamber, but it’s hard to imagine that he’d give Hufflepuff’s Cup to a Death Eater - it’s a lot more special to him and Voldy’s not a particularly trusting sort...”

“Hmm,” said Hermione.

All eyes turned to Hermione, recognising that particular “Hmm” she made when she was on the verge of an interesting thought.

“...It’s true that Voldemort’s not _generally_ trusting, Harry,” Hermione continued, “but we shouldn’t rule out the possibility that he might have given the Cup to one of the Death Eaters he trusted _most!_ ... Didn’t he consider Barty Crouch Jr to be one of his most trustworthy for not having ‘sold him out’ to stay out of Azkaban?”

“That’s a good point,” Harry agreed, nodding and frowning pensively. “So anyone else who had been sent to Azkaban was probably someone he trusted more than others, because they weren’t the sort to deny him publicly. And there’s one in particular who comes to mind...”

“...my dear Auntie Bellatrix,” said Dora sardonically from the doorway where she had been hovering and listening.

Everyone seemed startled; they peered at Dora, looking a bit torn.

“Er... Are you feeling a bit better then?” asked Parvati, voicing the question which everyone apparently felt was the most important to ask her first. 

Dora sighed; the last thing she wanted was to be thought of as an invalid, but she knew they’d all just be distracted if she didn’t get it out of the way. 

Besides, it might be good to get some of the things she’d been feeling off her chest, and Dora was comfortable enough with everyone to talk about it with them. Ginny, she’d known more or less as long as she had Harry and Hermione, and Luna was just the sweetest and Dora loved her bluntness, and she’d grown fond of Parvati in the time she had known her - very fond, in fact.

Parvati was as kindhearted and brave as anyone else seated before her, and pretty, and bubbly, and if Parvati were just a bit older... 

“I’m not sure really,” said Dora, letting that thought pass as she chose one of the comfiest looking cushioned armchairs to sit in. 

“It’s just... it’s hard, you know?” she muttered, her eyes growing watery again. “I really dunno what the hell t’do. ... And if I’m bein’ honest with myself - and I’ve ‘ad all day t’be honest with myself - Remus doesn’ even really come into it... I mean, he does, a bit, because it makes me sad not bein’ with him, but that’s not really what’s botherin’ me the most...”

Dora took a deep breath, struggling not to cry again as she had been on and off throughout the day.

“It’s just...” She took another deep breath and tried to start again. “I never thought of myself as the mum ‘type’ - never really wanted t’be a mum. Not like this anyway...” 

Dora left it unsaid that the most she had envisioned was a vague possibility that in the future - the _far_ -flung future, a sort of imaginary, fantasy future - she had pictured herself with another girl, and perhaps, maybe, adopting a kid, or even two, together. 

Dora snorted. “Maybe I’m just selfish, I dunno... I mean, look at me, I know I’m all grown-up - a real tough Auror, right? ... But on the inside I still feel like a little girl - a teenager - like I should still be in Hogwarts. ... ‘S why I always felt a bit uncomfortable with most of the other Aurors... and even most of the Order - like I was just play-actin’ y’know... even though I love gettin’ the bad guys - kicking some arse...”

“How the hell am I gonna do this?” she suddenly moaned, the tears leaking out the corners of her eyes. “We’re more or less at war - I need t’be strong, t’be out there fighting - helpin’ you lot - helpin’ the Order. How am I supposed to have a kid I’m not sure I even want in the middle of a bloody war? 

“... And I feel awful, like I’m terrible person for even thinkin’ that way!” Dora covered her face miserably with both hands and let out a sob, feeling deeply ashamed. “I’m supposed t’love a baby - I _want_ to love _**this**_ baby - and maybe - if there weren’t a war - if I _had_ someone..... But I _can’t_ put that on Remus... I just can’t! That wouldn’t be fair to him - he didn’t ask for this - I pushed ‘im into it!”

As she cried again for what seemed like the hundredth time since that morning, Dora felt comforting arms around her, someone kissing her head. From the lilac scent, she knew it was Parvati. Then she felt another pair of arms, and from the hints of spearmint and strawberry, she knew it was Hermione.

“We’ll get through this,” she heard Parvati’s voice murmur, “together. You won’t be alone.”

In her other ear, Dora heard Hermione say quietly, “You don’t have to be strong all the time. We love you Dora - your baby will have a family that loves it - no matter what happens - I promise...”

After a few minutes of cuddling, Dora calmed down to a sniffle and withdrew her hands from her face to see Luna ready with a box of tissues, Ginny and Harry both hanging back a bit, looking on sadly and a bit awkwardly trying to look comforting at the same time. But there was something especially troubled and even more heart-wrenching in Harry’s eyes.

Buoyed by all the affection, Dora took a handful of tissues from Luna.

“Thanks guys,” she said, blowing her nose and smiling wanly at everyone, feeling a bit better, if still apprehensive about what the future held. “Sorry for being such a wet blanket - I just couldn’t hold that in any more...”

“Don’t be sorry - it’s not awful of you to know the truth about what you’re facing,” said Harry quietly. “It’s smart - it’s honest! ... But whatever you decide to do, just know that Hermione speaks for both of us! You _**do**_ have someone! You’ve got _**us**_ , and you’ve got a home with us if you want it. So don’t let that affect your decision... You’re family, and that means your baby is family too!”

Dora bit her lip, understanding all too well what Harry was offering and why he was offering it. Somehow, as comforting as Hermione’s and Parvati’s unequivocal support was, Harry’s earnest declaration settled matters...

“Thank you Harry,” Dora said softly, her eyes stinging with tears now for entirely the opposite reason that she had been crying earlier. “That means more to me than I can even find the words t’say right now,” she sniffled.

Taking more tissues from Luna, Dora dabbed her eyes and blew her nose again.

“Right then,” she said, her smile much broader, “ _ **Now**_ maybe we can get down to business! I was standin’ in the doorway listening to you lot work things out. And like I said, I agree that my dear sainted Auntie Bellatrix is probably the most likely person to be looking after the Cup... Figuring out where she put it is the tough part though.”

“She’s married to Rodolphus Lestrange, right?” said Harry. “Is it possible that they have a manor like the Malfoys and are hiding it there somewhere, like Mr Malfoy had the Diary?” 

“Well, as far as I know, the Lestrange family definitely had a manor,” said Dora. “I s’pose that’s a possibility.” 

“The thing is,” Hermione mused, “it’s like Harry said earlier - we need to consider the fact that Voldemort allowed Mr Malfoy to keep the Diary at home because he envisioned one day giving it to a student to unlock the Chamber of Secrets. Is it really likely that he would have treated Hufflepuff’s Cup the same way? ... After all, the other Horcruxes were apparently either in quite secure locations, or where someone would be very unlikely to look for something of value.”

“Huh!” said Harry, looking pensive. “There’s _one_ place that’s supposedly the safest place in the world for valuable things - though Voldemort apparently did manage to break in when he was possessing Quirrell - what about Gringotts? The Lestranges would have a vault, right? Probably chock full of treasure... It would be one artifact of value among many.”

For a moment Number Twelve’s library was more silent than the quietest library in the world with librarians so strict they would make nuns look like rowdy hooligans.

“I bet that’s it,” said Ginny, breaking the silence. Harry nodded.

“Well, it’s worth checkin’ out at least,” said Dora, “And I can even think of one way to get some of us inside,” she added with a grin. 

“Of course!” Ginny gasped, “You’re a metamorphmagus! ... You could be your aunt Bellatrix!”

“Right in one, Ginny,” Dora agreed.

“But is that safe?” asked Parvati worriedly. Dora didn’t have to ask her what she meant.

“Well, it’s risky, I admit,” said Dora, “But I’m not going to sit this war out while I can still get around okay. I’ll just have t’take my chances just like anyone else who’s in trouble now that Voldemort seems to be runnin’ the whole show.”

“There is one problem though,” Luna piped up. “What about the _real_ Bellatrix? And what if the goblins have been warned to be really careful of anyone who might want to access the Lestrange vaults?”

“Huh, that could be a problem, true,” Dora admitted. “They could require her wand as proof of identity, and that’s not something I have.”

“What if there were another way in though?” asked Hermione, her eyes widening as if she’d just had a brainwave. “House-elves can apparate inside Hogwarts, right? Maybe they can bypass goblin anti-apparition charms as well. ... Dobby or Kreacher could apparate some of us into the Lestrange Vault and then Harry could use his scar to locate the Cup in the vault!”

“That’s _genius!”_ Ginny exclaimed, eyes wide.

“You know, that would solve a whole load o’ problems, wouldn’ it?” said Dora, nodding.

“Yeah, it would!” said Harry eagerly, his brooding expression evaporating. “Kreacher, Dobby,” he called out.

There were two cracks and two house-elves appearing out of thin air.

“What service can Kreacher...?” Kreacher began in his croaky bullfrog voice.

“... _and Dobby_...” Dobby squeaked. Kreacher narrowed his eyes at Dobby - they were clearly still working out the kinks in their arrangement in regards to serving Harry. 

“Yes... and Dobby,” said Kreacher begrudgingly, “What service can _**we**_ provide Master Harry?”

“I need an answer to a question first,” said Harry. “Can house-elves get past Goblin anti-apparition wards?”

“Oh yes, Master Harry, sir...” Dobby gleefully burst out before Kreacher had a chance to answer. 

“Brilliant!” said Harry, pumping his fist in the middle of Dobby’s answer. “I need to get into Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault.”

“...but house-elfs must be knowing where they is going,” Dobby continued without missing a beat, “and Dobby is not knowing where is being Madam Bellatrix’s vault.”

“Oh!” The excited look slid from Harry’s face.

“Kreacher knows where Missy Bella’s vault is,” croaked Kreacher, eyeing Harry with suspicion. “But why does Master Harry wish to enter Missy Bella’s vault?”

**~o0o~**

Harry wasn’t sure that he wanted to know how Kreacher knew where Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault was, despite Kreacher’s dramatic turnaround. It was a painful reminder that Kreacher had disappeared two Christmases ago and plotted with Narcissa Malfoy to sell out Sirius.

But Harry couldn’t help considering the question anyway. No doubt at one time or another in the past when Sirius’s parents had been alive, Kreacher must have been sent to Gringotts with Bellatrix for some reason - perhaps to carry an over-large amount of gold or some such thing, or to fetch something heavy that Bellatrix wanted to give to the Blacks for Christmas or a birthday? 

Whatever! Harry put that out of his mind, just glad that Kreacher knew.

“I don’t want to take anything which belongs to Bellatrix, Kreacher,” said Harry, choosing his words carefully. “I want to find something which belongs to Vol... er, the Dark Lord. It’s like the Locket - it contains something evil which must be destroyed, and it’ll help me defeat him again.”

“Oh!” Kreacher blinked, his features changing from a look of suspicion, to an expression of understanding, and then to a grimace of hate. “Then Kreacher will help Master Harry if it means that the Dark Lord will be exterminated.”

“Great!” said Harry, his heart racing with exhilaration again. “I’ll need some help though. Can you get more than one person in, say me and Hermione and Dora?”

“Tis easy for Kreacher to take two, Master Harry, one for each hand...”

“But Dobby can be bringing someone too,” Dobby beamed, “if Kreacher is letting Dobby follow him...”

“Kreacher will let Dobby follow,” said Kreacher, “Anything that is for helping Master Harry to kill the Dark Lord!”

“Excellent!” Harry exclaimed. “Be ready to get cracking then you two. We might as well get this done with...” 

“Shouldn’t we tell Dumbledore first?” asked Luna. “...Just in case something goes wrong?”

“Yes, we should,” Hermione agreed.

“Yeah, alright then,” said Harry, sounding a bit impatient. “But if he doesn’t answer straight away, I don’t want to wait - Luna can keep trying to contact him while we’re gone. This shouldn’t take long anyway.”

“Fair enough Harry!” said Dora, reaching into a pocket for her mirror, but Hermione had beaten her to it.

Hermione spoke into her mirror, “Professor Dumbledore! ... Are you there?”

Harry peered over Hermione’s shoulder and was surprised when Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes appeared in Hermione’s mirror within seconds. Behind Dumbledore there seemed to be what looked like a forbidding, black forest under cover of night, his face lit up eerily by the glow from his wand tip. 

“Ah, Miss Granger, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, “This is a surprise at this time of evening.”

“Er... where are you, sir? ...if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all Harry. I am currently somewhere in the Lake District, tracking reports of suspicious activity which may be nothing but muggle campers... In any case, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I think we’ve figured out where Hufflepuff’s Cup is Professor,” said Harry, his heart beginning to race. 

“Really?” Dumbledore looked quite surprised, “That would be something indeed. All of the potential leads I have been pursuing since we parted turned out to be dead-ends...”

“We think it’s in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault in Gringotts,” Hermione interjected, sounding a bit breathless. 

“Good heavens,” Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows shot up even higher, “I hadn’t even considered that possibility, given Bellatrix’s... ah, _less than stable_ behaviour, to put it most charitably. How did you arrive at this conclusion?”

“The process of elimination,” said Hermione, “We were brainstorming with all the information we had available. There didn’t seem to be any other locations which might have had some meaning to Voldemort, so we began considering the possibility that he may have given it to another Death Eater for safekeeping, as he did his Diary. But it didn’t seem likely that he would have been so cavalier about its security...”

“Of course!” Dumbledore interrupted, nodding as he stroked his long beard pensively. “Voldemort needed the Diary to be accessible in order for someone to open the Chamber of Secrets again - such would not be necessary with the Cup, and a Gringotts Vault is perhaps the safest place to hide such a precious artifact. ... Well then, I shall return immediately and we can work out a plan...”

“We’ve already come up with one,” said Harry eagerly. “Kreacher and Dobby are going to apparate us directly into her vault. We were just about to go and fetch it...”

If Dumbledore had been surprised before, he now looked like he could be knocked over with a feather.

“Er... I presume then that Kreacher has visited the vault before?” he said a bit weakly.

“Seems like it,” Harry replied, “Anyway, the only reason we called was to give you a heads up in case we do run into trouble...”

“But we ought not,” Dora added, suddenly peering over Hermione’s other shoulder. “I’ll be goin’ with them, Professor. It seems like a pretty solid plan, so we should be alright. ... And we’ll call you the moment we get back and finish it, which shouldn’t be too long really.”

Dumbledore looked slightly dubious as he continued to stroke his beard, then he nodded.

“Very well then. I shall leave it in your capable hands and continue my current investigation in the meantime. Good luck!”

“You too sir,” said Harry. 

Returning her mirror to her pocket, Hermione stood up. A few minutes later, after making sure they had everything they needed, including a sack in which to place the Cup when they found it, Harry called Kreacher and Dobby back. Kreacher took hold of Harry and Hermione’s arms and Dobby had Dora’s hand.

“Right then, here goes,” Dora muttered.

For a moment the world disappeared into a weird blankness, neither darkness nor light; Harry was surprised at how different it felt from wizard apparition. There was no sensation of twisting or being squeezed through a thin tube, and when the moment passed he was stunned by the wealth of treasures surrounding him.

He gaped in frank awe. This was nothing like his own vault, which certainly had a fair abundance of gold in it, but was only a small fortune in comparison to this. He wondered if the vault Sirius had left him looked anything like Bellatrix’s.

There were great heaping mountains of galleons, suits of armour and shields, marble statues, a plenitude of sparkling gems, rings and necklaces, covered paintings, boxes full of crystal jars and vials full of potions and what looked disturbingly like blood, gleaming swords and daggers with bejeweled hilts, shelves of silver and gold platters, plates, utensils, candlesticks, crystal goblets, and assorted decorative artifacts - and what appeared to be well over a hundred gem encrusted golden and silver chalices and goblets.

“Blimey,” he muttered as he peered at the plethora of cups glittering in the light of three wands. “It’s got to be one of them.”

“Well, we should probably be quick,” said Hermione, grabbing Harry’s hand. “Focus, Harry! Who knows how long we’ve got? For all we know there could be some sort of alert system inside the vaults.” She glanced at Dora questioningly

Dora shrugged. “Dunno... could be! I’ll keep an eye on the door and let you two get on with it.”

Harry closed his eyes and focused, allowing his feelings to swirl around his centre, letting Hermione’s presence flow through him. The connection to Voldemort within faded and his scar began to prickle from without as the horcrux impinged on the surface of his skin. 

“I think I hear something outside Harry!” called out Dora - who was pressing her ear to the door of the vault - after a few minutes had passed. “Carts on the track maybe! I think we’ve been rumbled! You’d better hurry...”

Harry opened his eyes and led Hermione by the hand to the shelves, peering at each goblet and chalice as his heart began pounding against the wall of his chest. Finally he managed to pinpoint it.

“There, it’s that one on the top shelf! The gold one with a badger on it...”

“I see it Harry,” Hermione squealed excitedly. “I see it!”

“It’s bloody high though!” Harry groaned. “How the hell are we supposed to get it...”

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Hermione muttered, aiming her wand at Harry.

He felt his clothes stretching, lifting him into the air; Harry grit his teeth when he felt his jeans tightening around his groin. He grabbed at Hufflepuff’s Cup and Hermione gently lowered him back down, then he thrust it into the sack Dora was holding.

“Okay, let’s go,” Harry barked. 

Kreacher grasped Harry and Hermione, and Dobby clutched Dora just as the cast-iron door began to screech and groan. The vault vanished and they were in that strange blankness again. They reappeared moments later in a room with mahogany shelves crammed with books that reached from the carpeted floor to the ceiling. 

Ginny, Luna, and Parvati all heaved great sighs of relief, as if they had been holding their breaths the entire time - which Harry reckoned they more or less had, as barely fifteen minutes had passed since he and Hermione and Dora had departed. 

“Right, let’s get that bloody thing to the cellar and get this over with!” said Harry, not looking forward to what was coming next. 

They all scurried down the narrow staircase in single file to the lowest level and Harry pushed open the door, entering a basement with red brick walls lined with shelves on one side and boxes piled high on the other. The Sword of Gryffindor was laying flat on top of an oak worktable by the rear wall.

Harry eyed the sword, with its ruby encrusted hilt and its silvery blade glinting in the harsh light of the bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling above. Dora retrieved Hufflepuff’s Cup from her bag and set it next to the sword.

“Alright, there you go Harry,” she said, smiling wanly at him. “After this, it’s all about hunting down Voldy and doin’ him and the snake in.”

Harry bit his lip thoughtfully, for a moment looking much like his fiancée often did.

“I think you should do this one, Dora,” Harry quietly suggested. Dora looked puzzled.

“ _Me?_ Why me, Harry?” 

“It just feels right,” he replied, giving her a meaningful look. Dora’s eyes widened when it hit her.

“‘Cause I’m a Hufflepuff?” she asked, just to be clear.

“Yeah!” Harry nodded. “Hermione did in Ravenclaw’s Diadem, and even though she’s a Gryffindor, that actually seemed right too...”

“Oh!” Hermione shot Harry a look that conveyed surprise, adoring gratitude, and embarrassment all rolled into one. “I never even thought of that.”

“It does make sense though,” Luna beamed. “You’re the most Ravenclaw Gryffindor there is.”

Ginny and Parvati both giggled.

Dora set the small golden chalice on the floor and hefted the Sword of Gryffindor with both hands, feeling its weight and giving it a practice swish.

“Right then, Harry! Brace yourself! You may wanna sit down for this!”

“Oh, right!” Harry quickly sat down on the cool concrete floor and Hermione joined him, curling an arm around his shoulders. 

Dora lifted the sword high above her head. The blade flashed as it cleaved the air and struck Hufflepuff’s Cup.

The Cup shrieked and shuddered, releasing a billowing maelstrom of black smoke, a windstorm whipping around the cellar, rattling the shelves. Harry groaned, clutching at his burning scar, beads of sweat on his clammy forehead, both of Hermione’s arms around him now...


	24. Morning Has Broken

Golden rays of early morning sunlight peeked over the top of the windowsill, poking through the gap in the lacy curtains and stirring Hermione. As her eyelids fluttered open it suddenly struck her as odd that an inner room in a terrace house would have a window. Then she remembered it was a wizarding home, larger on the inside than out, with windows wherever they were wanted. 

Hermione glanced at her fiancé who was still fast asleep beside her. She stroked Harry’s untidy black hair, a little smile creeping to her lips, a poignant look in her eyes. He looked so peaceful at the moment, no tension from nightmares, or from his paining scar which she knew had been bothering him off and on since their first night back at Number Twelve. 

Harry had tried not to show it as usual, and had tried to attribute it all to killing the horcruxes, but Hermione was fairly certain that Voldemort couldn’t be happy not to find them at Hogwarts. She had no doubt that Voldemort’s mood swings were causing Harry pain, and that they had finally settled into resignation, making it easier for Harry to block him. And the pain from killing Hufflepuff’s Cup had clearly ebbed during the night.

Hermione gently kissed Harry’s forehead and snuggled next to him, feeling his warmth and tranquility flowing into her. The sting which had accompanied her happiness at seeing Harry in a rare moment of peace faded to be replaced by contentment; Hermione was asleep again in no time as the sun rose higher.

**~o0o~**

Parvati rubbed Dora’s back while the youthful ex-Auror threw up again, trying to imagine herself being pregnant; it didn’t look as much fun as her mum had assured her it would be. Parvati was supposed to be finding a nice boy to marry - preferably of Indian descent - and making lots of babies with him, and certainly not preparing to participate in a war.

At one time - when she was much younger - that had seemed like a nice idea, and hanging out with Lavender giggling over boys _had_ been fun for a while. But now that Lavender had moved on to Ron Weasley, Parvati wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted anymore, and boys were the last thing that was on her mind.

Parvati wanted to do something meaningful with her life - that was why she had wanted to come along with Harry and Hermione to begin with. But after the last few nights sharing a bed with Dora, and seeing how much Luna and Ginny enjoyed being together, she wasn’t entirely sure if that was all there was to her current lack of interest in guys. 

Dora hadn’t “put the moves” on her or anything like that, but it had made Parvati wonder if her lack of interest in starting a family with a guy meant something else too. She had known that Dora liked girls mostly, but now she knew that Dora also liked _some_ guys - obviously.

But who did Parvati like? She _felt_ like she still liked guys, even though she wasn’t interested in a relationship at the moment. But Parvati had to admit, before Lavender had hooked up with Ron, she had enjoyed “practice kissing” with Lavender much more than she had thought she would. 

Finally Dora stopped heaving, clambered to her feet, and washed her face in the marble sink while Parvati flushed the toilet.

“Blimey!” Dora grumbled as she toweled off her face. “Thanks Parvati. I can’t wait to get past this stage of bein’ pregnant!”

“So it’s not like this the whole time then?” 

“Nah! Could be up to a couple more months and a bit I suppose. What’s bonkers is that now I feel like eatin’ chocolate covered bacon dipped in curry sauce for breakfast...”

“You _can’t_ be serious!” Parvati almost laughed, a bemused expression on her face.

“I mighta been joking about the curry sauce.” Dora shot Parvati a wink and a grin. “But chocolate covered bacon actually sounds really good right now. For some reason weird food cravings go along with this stage of pregnancy.”

“I suppose Dobby and Kreacher will be more than happy to oblige,” Parvati giggled.

“Yeah! ... True that,” Dora agreed. “I feel like I’m livin’ in the lap of luxury. I haven’t eaten this good since Hogwarts.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about pregnancy,” said Parvati, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

“Well, I did have a friend who went through it, so a bit of it’s experience. But actually, I learned a lot during Auror training. We all have t’learn a bit of Healing magic and about pregnancy - stuff like that - in case of emergencies. You never know what you might ‘ave to deal with when you’re in the field.”

“Oh, of course!” Parvati nodded. “That makes perfect sense. So what happens after you get over the first few months.”

“Well, you might ‘ave to sleep in your own room at that point. I could start feelin’ really randy and think you’re one o’ my girlfriends in the middle of the night while I’m half asleep or dreamin’...”

“Oh!” Parvati squeaked, her cheeks growing hotter.

“I’m joking,” said Dora quickly. “...Just joking.”

Parvati bit her lip uncertainly, looking half-amused. Given her most recent thoughts, she wasn’t sure that she’d mind all that much.

**~o0o~**

“I’m bored,” said Crabbe as he and Goyle followed Draco who was stalking around the castle on patrol.

“I thought we were gonna do... stuff,” Goyle agreed thickly. “Why aren’t we beating up Mudbloods?”

“Yeah! Or doing... _stuff_ with Mudblood girls?” 

“Because I’ve got better things to do than mess around with filthy animals!” snapped Draco. 

Crabbe and Goyle fell silent, looking rather disgruntled. 

But that was a good question actually. Draco wasn’t sure - they had been given carte blanche by the Carrows to do what they liked with Mudbloods who got out of line, after all, and it was easy enough to find an excuse to punish a Mudblood. 

But using the Cruciatus on some random Mudblood didn’t feel as satisfying as he had thought it might. And there was only one Mudblood girl he was really interested in bending to his will. It had been several days since the takeover of Hogwarts. Draco was growing increasingly agitated and frustrated. 

Potter was gone, and with him his pet Mudblood. Draco had been looking forward to making a chained up Potter watch while he, Draco, made Granger his own pet, violating her in every way imaginable. And that blood-traitor Weasley was gone too. Draco had been looking forward to using the Cruciatus on him while Potter watched that as well. 

What use was it being back at Hogwarts when there was no Weasley or Granger to torture while Potter was helpless to defend them? 

“If you’re bored, beat it!” Draco suddenly snarled at Crabbe and Goyle. “Go play with Theo! I’m sure he can find something for you to do!”

“Er...” Goyle was too taken aback to think of any way to respond. Though he wasn’t particularly good at thinking at the best of times, really.

“Yeah! Fine!” said Crabbe, “Got it! You’re too good for us now that you’ve got a Dark Mark! We don’t need you to have a bit a’ fun anyway. ... Let’s go, Greg!”

“Huh?” Goyle still looked confused. “Where we goin’ then?”

“You deaf? Mr. High-n’-Mighty don’t need us no more - come on.” 

Draco stood in the stone corridor watching Crabbe and Goyle lumber away. Crabbe was right. He didn’t need them anymore. Draco had a Dark Mark and was perfectly capable of handling things on his own now. 

He didn’t need Hogwarts either. It wasn’t like he needed to be there for an education anymore, especially when it was being taught by pathetic teachers who weren’t inclined to teach the Dark Arts. Even Snape was holding out, though Draco reckoned he was too busy being Headmaster to teach Dark Arts classes. All Draco was doing was uselessly patrolling the castle when any peasant could be on guard duty.

Draco was a Death Eater! There was nothing left at Hogwarts for him now. He should be out there hunting down Potter and Granger and Weasley, or rounding up muggleborns, or fighting Dumbledore’s people. 

Draco whirled around and marched off to find Snape and demand a chance to do something meaningful for the Dark Lord... and for himself in the process.

**~o0o~**

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, hopped up on several cups of coffee, the newest Senior Undersecretary practically skipped through the halls of the Ministry.

Yes, the Ministry was still reeling from the debacle of Dumbledore’s escape and Minister Umbridge was still extremely aggravated, but he, Percy Weasley, was still Britain’s newest Senior Undersecretary and he was going to do everything he could to prove to Dolores that she hadn’t been mistaken in her appointment of him to the position.

The Minister’s secretary looked up at Percy and beamed at him when he entered the outer office. 

“You can go right in sir. The Minister is expecting you.”

“Thank you, er...” Percy realised that he had been Senior Undersecretary for weeks but he still didn’t know the name of the Minister’s secretary.

“Judith Miller, but you can just call me Judy, sir.”

“Oh, er... yes! Thank you Judy. I’ll just, er... pop right in then.” 

Percy cringed at how green he sounded and kicked himself for his lameness. He was the Senior Undersecretary now, a senior Ministry Official, not a mere intern or assistant. He really needed to work on remembering that. It was just like being Head Boy at Hogwarts, Percy told himself.

Feeling better, more like his bossy self, Percy straightened up and marched into the Minister’s office.

“Good morning Minister,” he said brightly, taking a seat.

“Oh Percy, it’s just us dear,” said the Minister sweetly. “No need to be formal. ... Would you like some tea?” 

“Oh, er... yes please. Thank you Dolores.” Percy wasn’t sure that he really needed any more caffeine and sugar but he graciously accepted the dainty, flowery teacup and took a sip.

“You are probably wondering why I called you away from your duties this morning, Percy,” Dolores began after taking a sip from her own steaming cup of tea. “I have a quandary, and I am afraid that you are in the best position to help me resolve it.”

“Of course, Dolores,” said Percy eagerly. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help.”

“Very good! Thank you dear,” Dolores shot him a sympathetic smile. “As you know, despite a few odd sightings, none of the leads on Dumbledore have panned out yet. ... But it occurred to me that there are some in the Ministry who might have some ideas on the matter. 

“I considered having Yaxley make the inquiries, as the personnel are in the employ of the D.M.L.E., but then I thought a light approach might be best. I am speaking of your father of course, as I know that he and Dumbledore had very close ties...”

Percy inwardly groaned; he should have seen this coming. Percy tried to maintain as neutral a face as possible as Dolores continued making her case. 

“Now, I know this is asking rather a lot from you, Percy, but it would save us all a lot of trouble if you and your father could clear the air a bit. He is our best chance at the moment of finding Dumbledore, and of all people, despite the current strain on your relationship, you are probably the only one he might cooperate with willingly. 

“I would hate to have to resort to disciplinary measures to make him see reason. He is your family after all.” 

“Not... not a problem, Dolores,” said Percy in a strangled sort of voice. “You’re quite right of course. My father is far too close to Dumbledore, and you would be well within your rights to hold him for interrogation. I can’t promise you that he’ll listen to me, but I’ll do the best I can.” 

“Thank you dear! I knew I could count on you, Percy!” Dolores beamed and took another sip of her tea.

**~o0o~**

Percy’s face fell when he peered around his father’s empty office. The file cabinets were all open, not a single file left inside, the scuffed and scratched mahogany desk was cleaned out, and the muggle newspaper clippings which usually covered the walls were all gone. There was nothing left behind but a few paper clips, push pins, and staplers.

Shocked, Percy darted back into the central office with all the cubicles. He pounced on the first office clerk he could find. The startled witch shrieked and dropped all of her files.

“Oh! It’s you, Senior Undersecretary Weasley!” the witch squeaked as she bent down to pick up her files. “I’m dreadfully sorry - I didn’t see you there.”

“Not at all, not at all,” said Percy, bending down to help her pick up the files. “It was my fault entirely! Please accept my apologies! It’s just... my father wasn’t in his office, and I need to speak with him on a matter of some urgency. Er... you haven’t seen him have you?”

“Oh!” The witch looked surprised. “Didn’t you know then? I thought Arthur had tendered his resignation officially. When I arrived on Monday morning, his office was already cleared out.”

Percy’s face paled, his freckles standing out like flecks of red paint on an otherwise blank canvas.

“So D.M.L.E. Head, Yaxley doesn’t know about this yet either then?”

“If Arthur didn’t resign officially, then I should think not,” said the witch apologetically. “They rarely ever interacted.”

“Bloody hell!” Percy groaned. “The Minister is going to have kittens when she finds out.”

The witch, who had all of her files under one arm again, tried to hide a nervous little giggle at Percy’s choice of words. The Minister was quite well known for her collection of collectible kitten plates.

**~o0o~**

Draco dusted the ash from his shoulders when he emerged from the green flames in the downstairs parlour of his familiy’s manor. His mother was staring at him with an oddly strained expression on her face.

“Hello Mother,” he said, his tone questioning. 

“Why are you home, Draco?” she asked curtly. “Does Severus know you are here?”

“Professor Snape? ... He’s the one who let me come home.” Draco was even more puzzled now. There had been something very odd about Snape too when he had relented and allowed Draco to return home via the floo system. 

“He said it was probably safer for me by the Dark Lord’s side than at Hogwarts,” Draco continued. “I’m not sure what he meant, but that’s not really important. Helping the Dark Lord hunt for Potter and his friends - _that’s_ important! He’s here isn’t he? ...the Dark Lord?” 

Draco’s mother hesitated, looking... concerned? That didn’t seem quite right. Draco wasn’t sure what his mother’s look meant. Then she nodded. 

“Yes! You know where to find him. If it will bring your father home sooner, then by all means, do the Dark Lord’s bidding.”

Not sure what to make of his mother’s cold, ambivalent tone, Draco strode up the marble stairs, making his way to the drawing room on the second floor where the Dark Lord held his court.

**~o0o~**

Narcissa watched her son climbing the stairs, ice crawling through her veins. Did Severus know something she didn’t? He had promised to look after Draco to the best of his ability. He had promised to take on Draco’s task of killing Dumbledore if it became necessary.

Was that why Severus had allowed Draco to return home? Was Draco really safer hunting for Potter and his friends than staying at Hogwarts? Severus had made the Unbreakable Vow, so he must on some level truly believe it. Perhaps Severus believed that Dumbledore would try and retake Hogwarts at some point - that was the only thing which made sense.

Nonetheless, Narcissa felt uneasy. It may be safer to be hunting for Potter and his friends, but that wasn’t what was really bothering Narcissa anymore - she didn’t like who her son was becoming - but that didn’t seem quite right either, as he was simply becoming more like his father, more self-assured and self-reliant. 

Maybe it was she who was changing, and it frightened her.

**~o0o~**

Remus Lupin swallowed, trying to generate saliva to wet his dry mouth. He gazed around at the largest gathering of werewolves all assembled in one place that he had ever seen, perhaps sixty or seventy in a ramshackle barn somewhere in a sparsely inhabited area of Northumberland.

And they were all waiting to hear what he had to say after the three pack leaders of each of the groups represented by Ben, Max, and Gary had come together earlier that morning and worked out how to go about integrating into one larger unit. It had been quite amazing, really, that the leaders had all agreed so readily.

It was a testament to the inherent decency of all of the leaders and their packs that they were all willing to refuse to join Fenrir Greyback’s werewolf army, including Gary’s pack now that they knew Greyback and Voldemort were aligned with the current Ministry. For Remus’s part, he hadn’t even bothered returning to Maugrim’s pack, knowing he might never get a chance to leave again once Maugrim got wind of this. 

Last night Remus had followed Ben back to his pack - the one made up mostly of muggles who had been turned - and had been surprised to find that the leader of Ben’s pack was a witch he vaguely recalled from Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw a year or two ahead of him and James and Sirius. 

Remus glanced at the witch beside him, who gave him an encouraging look, and recalled their meeting the night before.

**~o0o~**

“Abigail, isn’t it? Abigail Spencer?”

“Do I know you?” she asked, shaking Remus’s hand.

“You might not remember me - I was in Gryffindor, a year or two behind you.” Remus smiled wryly. 

The werewolf-witch, pretty, with auburn hair, peered at Remus appraisingly for a minute, then she smiled. 

“I think I _**do**_ remember you! Remus Lupin - you hung out with Potter and Black, didn’t you?” 

“Guilty as charged,” said Remus, grinning sheepishly. “It would seem that I cannot escape our notoriety.”

“Don’t be sorry on my account,” Abigail retorted. “I thought you and your friends were brilliant!”

“Really?” Remus was honestly surprised. “Even after James got Bertram Aubrey with the Bighead Hex? I wouldn’t have thought many Ravenclaws were too pleased with us after that.”

Abigail laughed. “Oh please! Aubrey had it coming - he was a pompous jackass! ... Thought rather a lot of himself - his brains - being a Pureblood - his family’s wealth. He seemed to think he was a cut above the rest of us. He wasn’t as bad as a Slytherin by any means, but he was still bloody annoying!

“Anyway, I’m a muggleborn. And as far as I’m concerned, you and your friends did us all a favour keeping the Slytherins in check. You were about the only ones in _any_ year willing to take them on.”

“Oh!” Remus raised his eyebrows, the perspective of someone outside his bubble of guilt from his Hogwarts days impacting him in a way that he’d never felt before. 

Maybe it was because she had actually been a student at the same time as he, or maybe it was because she was a werewolf. Remus wasn’t quite sure, but either way, Abigail Spencer had given him something to think about. 

“So,” he said cautiously, putting his other thoughts aside for the moment, “obviously you weren’t, erm... a werewolf back in our Hogwarts days...”

“It happened after - during the first war,” Abigail offered without any further prodding. “One of Greyback’s pack. I don’t know if I was targeted for being a muggleborn, or just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She let out a deep sigh. 

“But it happened - why, it doesn’t really make any difference. I dealt with things as best as I could after the war, and ran into a few muggles who had been turned. It made me realise that things could have been even worse for me - being a werewolf without any magical means of protection for most of every month. 

“So that’s where I put my focus - trying to help turned muggles survive in the wizard world. I found a few other wizard-werewolves such as Ben - muggleborns themselves - who were more than willing to help. 

“And so here we are today, trying to stay out of things just to survive, because the muggle-werewolves don’t stand a chance otherwise. But Ben tells me you have other ideas, and I’m willing to give you a hearing...”

**~o0o~**

Remus returned from his reverie and found himself sweating. Abigail gave Remus a pat on his arm and smiled at him again, seeing his nervousness.

“You’ll be fine!” she said quietly. “It’s a reasonable plan - if the others go for it. But either way, we’ll support any of the wizard-werewolves who want to fight.”

“Look at me,” said Remus, shaking his head. “I’m a nervous wreck! You’d never know that I’d stood in front of classes at Hogwarts and taught.”

“This is different though,” Abigail pointed out reasonably. “We’re all adults here, and there’s a lot more at stake than making our O.W.L.s.”

Remus nodded and peered out at the sea of faces assembled in the large barn and cleared his throat as Abigail opened the proceedings.

“Alright,” she called out loudly, getting everyone’s attention, “you’ve all met each other - we’ve all agreed to band together - and that’s no mean feat...” There were a few chuckles at that from the crowd. 

“Now, a load of the wizards among us want to fight - they don’t want to stay on the sidelines while You-Know-Who and his followers tighten their grip on Britain with the Ministry behind them. And there’s good reason - many of us have families, even if we don’t get to see them as much as we’d like, due to our affliction. ... None of us want to see them murdered, or see them get turned by Greyback’s lot...”

A few murmurs and cries of “hear, hear,” rose from the crowd.

“But not all of us can participate in an open battle with wizards for obvious reasons,” Abigail continued, “and would prefer that more wizards hang back as well, because they’d be sitting ducks otherwise - forced to join Greyback’s pack or die. But Remus Lupin here has an idea that could mean greater defensibility with a minimum number of wizards at our sides...”

“Remus?” Abigail grinned at him, “They’re all yours!” 

“Hmm... ahem... Thank you Abigail,” Remus turned and nodded at the assembly. “And thank you all for hearing me out. This may seem a bit of a mad idea - not only to those of us who are wizards, but to those of us who are non-magical. ... After all, except for hobbyists, farmers, fox-hunters, and skeetshooters, guns aren’t something most of us are acquainted with in Britain...”

“Did you say guns?” one voice called out, sounding shocked.

“What use are guns against wizards?” called out another.

“Give ‘im a chance,” said another. “Let ‘im finish.”

“Yes,” said Remus, raising his eyebrows and giving everyone a serious look, “I did say guns - and you’d be surprised at how effective they might be against wizards. To those of you who are wizards, how many times have you had to face anyone with a firearm?”

There were murmurs of, “None,” and, “Certainly not me,” and several shook their heads. 

“That’s what I thought,” said Remus. “And indeed, very few British wizards have faced firearms. ... It’s true that shield charms will stop bullets - but never having faced bullets, wizards won’t be expecting them, or know how to effectively counter them strategically. Wizards can’t cast spells and keep their shields up at the same time. 

“Like anyone else with a weapon, magical or muggle, wizards will either have to take an offensive position or a defensive position. That makes them just as vulnerable to bullets as any human if they drop their shields and try to attack...”

Remus saw nods and pensive expressions and heard whispers of, “He’s got a point,” and, “I never thought o’ that,” mingled with skeptical looks and whispers of, “I’m not so sure.”

“So, my proposal,” Remus continued, hoping that those who were more positive about the idea would help talk the rest into it, “is that we steal some guns and ammunition from a weapons depot or armory. We’d have to learn how to use them of course, and admittedly, I myself have never used a gun, so that might prove a bit of a challenge at first, but I don’t believe that to be a significant hurdle...”

“I could help with that,” yelled out someone from the crowd. “I used to be in a police tactical support unit...”

“I dunno mate,” said a dubious looking older man, balding, with a grey moustache, “Sounds a bit dodgy to me.” 

Another man in the crowd - younger, perhaps in his mid-thirties - stood up and swiveled around to address everyone. “I was S.A.S., and this sounds like a good plan to me - Lupin’s right. This is workable, and what’s more, I know an armory that we could raid...”

“What if we run out of ammunition?” someone asked reasonably.

“That’s not a problem,” said a middle-aged witch. “Any witch or wizard who stays with the muggles should be able to replicate anything with magic - bullets, grenades, whatever we need. We wouldn’t run out...”

More and more people began nodding and agreeing; a buzz of conversation filled the barn. Remus felt some of his tension draining away and glanced hopefully at Abigail. She waited for about fifteen minutes, peering around the barn to assess the general mood; finally, she stepped forward and shouted to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright then, you lot - you’ve had a bit of a chance to discuss this amongst yourselves, so whaddya say we give this a go? Let’s see a show of hands!”

Remus grinned to see hands rising everywhere; the hand vote was nearly unanimous.

“Fantastic!” said Abigail, “The motion passes!” 

There were cheers and claps; Remus suddenly found himself trapped in a hug and Abigail gave him a peck on the cheek.

“That was brilliant Remus! Well done! Now all we need to do is organise a raiding party and then begin training.”

“Well, thankfully, it seems like a very Ravenclaw crowd,” Remus quipped, feeling his cheeks growing warmer.

“Maybe! But raiding a muggle military base? ... Seems pretty Gryffindor to me,” Abigail retorted with a wink, nudging him in the ribs. 

“Anyway, the hard bit is over,” she said, taking one of Remus’s arms. “Now how about some lunch?”

**~o0o~**

Harry yawned, feeling loads better, especially with Hermione’s arm curled around him and her messy ringlets tumbling over his shoulder. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon, later than it had been the first morning in Number Twelve a few days ago. Killing a horcrux really took it out of him.

He grinned at his still slumbering fiancée and kissed the top of her bushy head. Harry kissed the top of her head again and lay there happily, enjoying the moment. It was after twelve-thirty when Hermione finally stirred. She blinked a few times then beamed at him.

“Still sleepy again, are you? This is getting to be a habit - soon I’ll have to call you Sleeping Beauty!” Harry quipped.

Hermione poked his stomach. “I’ll have you know that I was up at the crack of dawn, Harry James Potter. I just didn’t want to wake you.”

“I know the feeling.” Harry planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’ve been awake for over half an hour and you looked too happy to wake up.”

“Mmm ... Very sweet of you, Harry.” Hermione shifted and gave him a proper kiss. 

“So how about some breakfast then?” she said when their lips parted. “You must be famished.” 

“You mean lunch don’t you?” 

“I’d settle for Brunch.” Hermione gave Harry another peck on the lips. 

The covers fell away from Hermione as she clambered out of bed without a stitch on, her midday sunlit bare skin capturing Harry’s rapt gaze. It suddenly struck him that she had forgone wearing a nightie the last three nights in a row and he suddenly felt guilty for wearing pyjamas. 

Harry couldn’t believe how far they’d come in just a few months since becoming boyfriend and girlfriend - especially as he had originally thought over the Christmas holidays that it would take her ages and ages to get over things. ... Yeah, he had proposed, and she had accepted. But that had been for the future, and he honestly hadn’t imagined being at this stage with Hermione already, completely at home with one another - maybe next year... or the year after that.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and grabbed his hand, dragging him out of bed.

“Come on lazybones. You can ogle me later - Brunch, remember?”


	25. Dangerous Treatise

The quiche was heavenly, the crust perfectly flaky and the egg, cheese, and bacon in the middle melting in Hermione’s mouth. Hermione washed it down with sips of tea and glanced at Harry to see how he was enjoying the change in menu. 

She inwardly sighed, recognising that brooding look. It hadn’t taken long for Harry’s mood to drift back into apprehension. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours since destroying the second to last horcrux - the second in a space of just a few days no less. Generally speaking, Hermione was no better than Harry at relaxing and letting the grass grow under her feet, but this seemed to be taking things a bit far. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Harry?” she said, hoping to snap him out of it.

“What?” Harry looked a bit startled, then a bit shifty when he caught Hermione’s aggravated expression. “Oh, er... nothing really.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please, Harry! You can’t fool me. I know you better than that. Come on, out with it. ... You want to go after Voldemort and his snake now, don’t you? ... Like _**right**_ now, I mean.”

“Er...” The corners of Harry’s lips lifted slightly as peered back at her sheepishly. “Okay - yeah! I suppose I am being a bit impatient.”

Dora, who was joining Harry and Hermione for brunch even though she had already eaten lunch with the others, snorted mirthfully, thankfully having swallowed her sip of tea. 

“Take a breather Harry,” she chortled. “You’ve earned it. You, me, none of us are gonna do anyone any good unless we catch our breaths and take stock of things before we make our next move.” 

“I’ll try,” Harry sighed, nodding. “It’s just - I just remembered something I saw a few days ago at the Ministry. There were these pamphlets in one of Umbridge’s offices - her Propaganda Office - there was one about the Muggleborn Menace. It was basically questioning whether or not muggleborns were good or bad. 

“And there was one about Mis... Misck-something or other - I’ve never read the word the before. It was about whether or not Wizards should be allowed to marry Muggles...”

 _“Miscegenation!”_ Hermione hissed angrily. “Of course the Ministry would be against that now...” 

“Bloody hell!” Dora’s eyes widened in shock. “Hang on a sec! Those must’ve been in production for a while - ever since Umbridge took over the Ministry! Now that the Minister is openly supporting Voldy and the takeover of Hogwarts, she’s probably goin’ all in... I mean, the propaganda would probably be _totally_ anti-Muggle and anti-Muggleborn now...” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Harry, nodding worriedly. “What if they’re already rounding up Muggleborns now? ... That’s why I want to finish Voldemort as quickly as possible. Minister Umbridge wouldn’t last two seconds without Voldemort backing her - the Order would be able to take over the Ministry and give her the boot....”

“...and then we could put a stop to it - to whatever they’d be doing to Muggleborns if they’ve started rounding them up,” said Hermione, feeling horrified now, and more than a bit apologetic for questioning Harry’s moodiness. “No wonder you want to get cracking on looking for Voldemort. Maybe we should...”

“Now hold your horses, you two,” said Dora. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. We need to find out if the Ministry really has started an anti-Muggleborn programme first. The Order could already be on it, and we really do need a breather - at least a few days before jumping back into things.”

“But what if they don’t know yet?” Harry argued. “The Order I mean - they’re focused on Voldemort and his lot at the moment, and they’ve probably got too much to do as it is. If we can help get to Voldemort quicker, I was thinking that maybe some of the Order would be able to start dealing with the Ministry.”

“I think Harry might be right,” Hemione added, her chest heaving with anxiety.

“Maybe so,” said Dora. “But first we need to check with Dumbledore - see if the Order knows anything yet. If not, then I should pop out in disguise and see what I can find out before we do anything.”

“But you’re pregnant,” said Harry, who was starting to really look agitated now. “It’s too dangerous...” 

“I’ll be in disguise,” Dora retorted. “And anyway, I already told you, Harry, there’s no way in hell I’m sitting on the sidelines as long as I can get around...”

Unwilling to let the argument turn into a row, Hermione already had her mirror in hand, determined to put a stop to it before things went any further.

“Professor Dumbledore,” she squeaked into the mirror, “If you’re there, please answer. Professor Dumbledore...”

To Hermione’s great relief, Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes peered back at her from the mirror. The background looked different than it had last night; he appeared to be in a house with flowery wallpaper.

“Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, sounding a bit surprised, “I hadn’t thought to hear from you or Harry for a few days at least, after Harry had recovered somewhat...”

“That’s just it,” said Hermione, “Harry wants to get out there right now to track down Voldemort...”

Harry and Dora had stopped arguing, both of them looking at Hermione now, for which Hermione was very grateful.

“...He spotted something at the Ministry the other day,” she went on, “some pamphlets in the propaganda office, and he thinks the Ministry might already be trying to round up Muggleborns. Have you heard anything about that?”

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed at his crinkled forehead. “That would be news to me - the Order is currently focusing all its efforts on countering Voldemort’s forces which have been hunting down Muggleborns themselves and committing random acts of violence against Muggle targets to keep us busy trying to protect them.

“I do have several moles still in the Auror office - but I cannot risk exposing them by contacting them at the moment - I was expecting a report from one this evening...”

“What about Mr. Weasley?” said Harry, who had drawn closer to Hermione and was now looking over her shoulder into the mirror. “His office is in the D.M.L.E. - Umbridge knows he’s on our side.”

“All those who were employed at the Ministry who were openly associated with me were recalled at the weekend,” Dumbledore reassured Harry. “Arthur is safe and sound - as is Molly - and they have already been moved to a safehouse.” 

Dora was now peering over Hermione’s other shoulder into the mirror. 

“I don’t think Harry can wait till tonight to find out from your mole what’s going on at the Ministry,” she said, “and t’tell you the truth, neither can I. What say I pop out in disguise to Diagon Alley? ... If anything’s up - like roundin’ up Muggleborns - the Ministry is sure to have made it public with new propaganda or through the _Daily Prophet_.” 

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered shrewdly from Dora to Harry.

“Very well!” Dumbledore nodded with a rather wry expression. “But take Harry with you as back-up - I’m sure that between the three of you, your transfiguration skills are more than adequate to disguise him as well...” 

“If they’re going, then I’m going too,” said Hermione adamantly. “I can be disguised as well.”

“No,” said Harry.

“You’re _**not**_ going to keep me out of things, Harry!” Hermione snapped.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Harry quickly. “I was going to say that maybe you should be invisible - either with my cloak or the Disillusionment Charm.” 

“Er...” Hermione felt a bit bewildered. Harry didn’t look like he was just being over-protective come to think about it, “Why should I be invisible?”

“Because if we somehow get rumbled, you’ll be our ‘secret weapon’” said Harry, grinning. 

“Oh!” Hermione turned pink and smiled sheepishly at Harry, remembering how she had tricked Umbridge to stop her from torturing Harry, and then to lead her into the Forbidden Forest. “That’s very logical, Harry.”

“Yes indeed...” Dumbledore’s voice emanated from the mirror. “Let me know what you find. But no matter what you uncover, I must insist that you take a few more days at the very least before charging off to search for Voldemort.”

**~o0o~**

The lead Auror in charge of escorting the Dark Lord and his entourage through Azkaban frowned as if uncertain about his assigned task. Draco Malfoy smirked slightly and glanced at the Dark Lord who seemed unconcerned about any doubts that some of the Aurors might harbour. Several Dementors also glided alongside the odd group, kept at bay by the Patronuses of the three Aurors.

Draco was disappointed when they arrived at the next cell. Like the two they had already stopped at, this one did not hold his father; it held Crabbe’s. Herbert Crabbe eyed the Dark Lord fearfully, and when the Lead Auror unlocked the iron door of the cell, Crabbe fell at the Dark Lord’s feet.

“My - my Lord,” said Crabbe as he prostrated himself. “Thank you Master... thank you! I am sorry for failing you - it won’t happen again.”

“On your feet, Crabbe,” said the Dark Lord in that high, deathly cold voice of his. “I do not have time for your groveling. You will have your chance to redeem your failures.”

Impatiently, Draco followed along behind Wormtail who was at the Dark Lord’s side, the footsteps of the growing assemblage echoing in the stone passages of the ancient keep. Draco eyed the three released so far, which included the Lestrange brothers, and kept his restiveness to himself. 

Twice more the throng halted, passing numerous cells with haunted, emaciated figures, liberating more of the Dark Lord’s abject followers whom had disappointed him by their capture at the Ministry. Avery and Mulciber joined the rest, looking suitably chastened. 

Further down the passage from Mulciber’s cell, the sight of a familiar, scowling young man who looked far healthier than the rest brought Draco up short; a grin crossed Draco’s features, his impatience forgotten.

“Oi, McLaggen - over here!” 

McLaggen looked up at Draco, his face a mask of surprise.

“Malfoy? ... What are you doing here?”

“Getting you out if you want to join us,” Draco raised his eyebrows at the Gryffindor who probably would have done well in Slytherin.

“Us?”

“The Dark Lord! ... The Minister is pardoning all of his supporters, and anyone who wants to join up. So, what about it then? You in?”

“Are you bloody serious? You can actually get me out of this hellhole?’

“Yeah, if you want it,” said Draco, smirking at the skeptical looking prisoner. “If you join us, you’ll even get a crack at revenge on Granger and Potter when we find them. Well, the Dark Lord wants Potter for himself, but he’ll probably let you watch him torture and kill Potter. ... How does that sound?”

“That sounds bloody brilliant!” said McLaggen, rising to his feet, a grin on his face. “You really mean that about Granger? I would have thought you’d want that bitch for yourself.”

“I’m willing to give you a turn,” said Draco magnanimously before turning and yelling down the passage. “Hey - I’ve got one who wants to join up - he’s young and healthy, and he hates Potter just as much as me!”

The lead Auror shot the Dark Lord a questioning look; The Dark Lord nodded, a thin, cruel smile on his lips.

“By all means. If Mr. Malfoy believes the prisoner to be useful, then I shall give him the chance to prove his usefulness to me.”

“Yes, sir,” the lead Auror muttered as he strode back towards Draco with his jangling keys.

As Draco followed the others through the ancient stone corridors of the fortress, chatting with an exceedingly grateful Cormac McLaggen, all he could think about now was imagining the look on Potter’s face while watching him and McLaggen defile Potter’s girlfriend in every way imaginable.

Even finding his father in relatively sound condition paled in comparison to that delicious thought.

**~o0o~**

The back of an ochre coloured armchair was wedged against one of the tall mahogany bookcases in Number Twelve’s library and a slight, elfin girl with dirty blonde hair was precariously perched on her toes on the very top of that armchair, reaching out for the heavy looking tome on the second to the last shelf from the top. Her fingers were nearly there - only an inch and a half more and she would have it.

The fat orange cat splayed across a loveseat on the other side of the library flicked its tail languidly, his eyes widening with shock when he rolled over and spotted the girl teetering on the top of the rear of the armchair, the tips of her fingers nearly touching the black leather-bound book.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The girl was tumbling through the air, strangely silent, wearing an expression of fascination and surrender on her face. The cat let out a yowl, his fur all on end. An instant later the girl was in the arms of two House-Elves who had caught her before she hit the floor, wondering how they had known to be there on time.

The door of the library flew open and two other girls, one with black hair and one with red, burst into the room.

“Luna!” yelled the panicked red-haired girl. “What happened? What on earth were you doing?”

“Oh, hello Ginny. I was just trying to get that book near the top shelf,” said Luna nonchalantly as the two House-Elves set her on her feet. “I almost had it, then I fell, and then Dobby and Kreacher caught me before I crashed on the floor. I’m not sure how they knew I was falling though.”

“Mistress Hermione’s cat called for us, and we came,” croaked the most ancient House-Elf. 

“Oh! That’s very interesting,” said Luna. “So you both understand cat language then?”

“Yes, Miss Luna,” squeaked Dobby. “House-Elves is understanding many creatures...” 

“But why were you climbing to get the book?” Parvati interjected, looking very bewildered. “Did you forget you’re a witch?”

“No silly,” Luna giggled. “I tried my wand first, but Accio wouldn’t work on it.”

“Luuuna,” Ginny moaned, a disturbed look on her face. “it’s probably got Dark magic on it then. Why do you want that book?”

“It’s alright Ginny,” said Luna earnestly and apologetically. “It’s not possessed like Tom Riddle’s diary was. It just looked interesting.”

“How could you tell from all the way down here?” asked Parvati. 

“It told me.”

Ginny groaned. “I thought you said it wasn’t possessed.”

“It’s not,” Luna patiently told her girlfriend. “It didn’t talk like _that_. I was just browsing the books on the shelves, looking for a book to make our spells more powerful - for when we go out in the world to help Harry find Voldemort and the snake and do them in. Somehow the book knew I was looking for it, and it called out to me - not in words though. ... It showed me, in my head.”

“Erm...” Parvati peered skeptically at Luna, “That sort of _does_ sound like it’s possessed, you know?” 

“I know!” said Luna bluntly, smiling serenely. “But it’s just a magic book which responds to someone who’s looking for a book like it - it’s a bit like the Room of Requirement that way. ... And it’s got lots of enchantments and protection spells on it. That’s why I couldn’t summon it - but I knew it would let me pick it up, or it wouldn’t have responded to me.”

“If miss Luna is wanting the book, Dobby can be getting it for you,” said Dobby, his eyes bulging hopefully.

“Thank you, Dobby,” said Luna, “But I don’t think the magic of the book would let a House-Elf who didn’t originally belong to the Black family pick it up. Maybe Kreacher could get it for me if he doesn’t mind.”

Kreacher peered at the book for a moment and then he nodded. 

“Miss Luna is correct,” he croaked. “The book’s magic is responding only to those who seek it and who are worthy to read it, and it is only responding to Kreacher. Kreacher will bring it to you.” 

Ginny and Parvati both goggled in surprise when Kreacher floated up to the top of the bookcase and retrieved the book, then drifted back down. Only Luna didn’t seem nonplussed by the display of a magical ability which the House-Elf hadn’t previously demonstrated.

They both peered over Luna’s shoulders and coughed when she blew the layers of dust off the black leather binding. Embossed in glittering gold, the title became clear: _The Alchemy of the Coven in Theory and Practice._

Parvati blushed and clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes growing bigger.

“Hang on,” said Ginny, frowning, “Aren’t Covens where a load of witches get together and dance around naked in the woods and have orgies under a full moon and then do magic?” 

“That’s what my daddy told me, so yes,” said Luna unconcernedly. “I think sometimes wizards are allowed too, as long as all the witches in the Coven agree that they’ve got the right sort of soul and aren’t just in it to have sex with loads of witches.”

**~o0o~**

Diagon Alley seemed dismal and grey, despite the relatively clear, bright skies of Spring. Wizards and witches darted about furtively, clearly hoping to avoid challenge by Ministry Officials or perhaps even Death Eaters.

Harry was disguised as a posh looking man in his early thirties with long, wavy, straw coloured hair, and a goatee, and was nervously strolling beside Dora, who currently looked like a well-to-do woman also in her early thirties, blonde, with blue eyes. 

Hermione invisibly trotted right behind Harry in his wake, practically tethered to him, not so much physically, but in mental communication with him. It was only a temporary charm with a very limited range - perhaps five metres at best - offered up by Dumbledore to lessen the chance of losing Hermione. 

It wasn’t legilimency - more like a two-way radio - but it required close proximity to be of any use. Apparently it was an obscure spell developed in the middle ages and long forgotten due its inefficiency. 

As the three of them continued down Diagon Alley, they passed by Ollivander’s and Fortescue’s windows which were still boarded up, and several more shops were closed than there had been at the end of the previous summer. Harry felt his chest tightening and a surge of fury as he wondered if the shop owners had been muggleborn. 

**I’m still with you, Harry,** Hermione said reassuringly in his head. **Whatever happened to them, we’re going to fix things.**

**I hope so, Hermione,** he thought back. Harry took several deep breaths and found his centre; his anger swirled around it, fading into the background. 

Across the way, on the corner, he was alarmed to see that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was still open. 

“Bloody hell!” he muttered quietly. “Are they insane? I can’t believe that Umbridge hasn’t arrested them already after what they pulled last year at Hogwarts.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, James, we can have a look and see what’s going on,” said Dora, using the name they had planned upon before leaving Number Twelve. “We should be alright thanks to these snazzy duds.”

**I think Dora’s right, Harry,** Harry heard Hermione say in his mind. **We should be okay.**

Harry nodded, grateful that Sirius hadn’t cleared out all of his parents’ posh looking clothes when they had been cleaning Number Twelve; wealth tended to be associated with Pureblood families in the Wizard World. 

Fortunately, the shop wasn’t too busy at the moment and they were able to get inside without having to worry that someone might accidentally bump into Hermione. Harry spotted Verity the shop clerk up at the counter with an employee he had never seen before.

Harry and Dora approached the counter, catching Verity’s attention.

“Can I help you, sir, madam?” she asked politely. “Is there something I can help you find?’

“Er... Fred and George Weasley,” said Harry, feeling a bit awkward. “Are they in at the moment?” 

“Sorry, no, sir,” said Verity. “They’re out of the country for a bit - visiting their brother in Romania I think. If it’s anything important, I could probably send them an owl, but I wouldn’t get a reply for a few weeks.”

“Oh,” said Harry, he and Hermione both sighing with relief in each other’s head. 

“That’s alright. Er... my wife and I were just thinking about making some investments,” Harry made up on the spot. 

“Oooh!” said Verity eagerly. “Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley are always interested in investments. Shall I send them an owl then?”

Harry could almost feel Hermione rolling her eyes and he suppressed a grin. He glanced at Dora with raised eyebrows as if questioning his “wife.”

“We might as well, dear,” said Dora, nodding at her fake husband. “I don’t really see why not.” 

“Alright,” said Verity as she picked up a quill to jot their information down, “who shall I say is calling then?”

“Bond,” Dora replied, struggling to maintain a straight face, “James and Vesper Bond. Just let them know we’ve got a few thousand galleons if they’re interested. We’ll just check back in, in a few weeks then, if that’s alright.”

“Absolutely,” said Verity, scribbling the information on a bit of parchment.

A few minutes later, “James and Vesper Bond” and their invisible cohort somehow managed to get out of the Weasleys’ shop without falling into a fit of giggles. Feeling a bit more cheered they finally found themselves at the newsstand just outside Flourish and Blotts. 

Harry’s cheeriness evaporated at the sight of the Wanted Posters posted on the front of the kiosk though. Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes twinkled back at him from under the heading, Undesirable Number One. Even more unnerving were his own features and Hermione’s brown eyes staring back at him from a single poster headed, Undesirables Number Two and Number Three. 

Dora took the lead, seeing Harry falter.

“A _Daily Prophet_ please.” 

“Righto, Ma’am,” said the newsagent deferentially as he passed her a newspaper. 

Dora forked out a knut for the paper and her eye caught the Ministry pamphlets sitting on the counter. 

“Those’re free,” said the newsagent. “Take all you need.” 

“Thank you!” Dora glanced at Harry who was still staring at the Wanted posters, a muscle twitching on his temple. 

**Harry ... HARRY!** said Hermione worriedly in his head. **Let’s just go! Stop looking at my picture.**

“Come along dear,” said Dora, gently taking his arm. “The kids are waiting.”

“Oh, er, yeah... The kids!” Harry snapped out of it, spying an Auror in a long black trenchcoat nearby watching them with suspicion. 

The three of them managed to escape Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron without being accosted and all breathed deep sighs of relief upon reaching the Muggle World. They slipped into a nearby alley and disapparated.

Number Twelve seemed very quiet when they returned. It wasn’t as if Harry expected Luna and Ginny and Parvati to be running around the house with Crookshanks and Hedwig and getting up to mischief while he and Hermione and Dora had been gone, but there was a palpable air of the sort of silence which one might find in a...

“Library,” said the now perfectly visible Hermione, who was smiling brightly at Harry. “They’re in the library.”

“Er... you can still hear me - my thoughts I mean?” 

“Not with the magic spell anymore, Harry.” 

Harry turned pink, feeling a little jolt of happiness that they still had a sort of mental connection even without the spell. He was almost missing having Hermione in his head already after she had saved him from his anxiety at seeing her face on a Wanted poster, and it was only thanks to Hermione knowing him so well that she had snapped him out of his agitation and moodiness earlier at brunch. 

A few minutes later Harry and Hermione were proved correct when they discovered the other three young witches poring over an enormous tome in the library. Ginny and Parvati looked startled and their faces flushed with mortification when they heard Harry, Hermione, and Dora enter the room, but Luna was as unflappable as ever.

“What’s that you lot’re reading then?” asked Dora, peering at the three of them cannily. “Some sorta ancient sex-manual with a load of naughty pictures?”

“Eep,” squeaked Ginny, and Parvati’s blush deepened.

“More or less,” said Luna cheerfully. “It’s a book about how to be a Coven.”

Hermione gasped and then let out a nervous little giggle, her own features reddening.

“Blimey!” Dora snorted with laughter. “You don’t do things in half-measures, do you?”

“Er... what’s so funny?” Harry shot a bewildered look at Hermione. “I didn’t even know Covens were a real thing. Isn’t that just something muggles think witches do - stand around a fire stirring giant cauldrons with giant spoons and cackling for no real reason?”

“That’s not what a real Coven does, Harry,” said Hermione. “And you probably haven’t heard of them in the Wizard World because it’s not something they would teach at Hogwarts. They’re quite rare and rather frowned upon by polite society...”

“That’s puttin’ it mildly,” said Dora. “It’s the sorta scandalous thing Skeeter would have a field day with. The _Prophet_ would be goin’ on and on about crazed sex-fiends destroying the moral fabric of the Wizard World if they ever got wind of a Coven.”

Light began to dawn on Harry and he rubbed at his itching scar.

“So, er... Covens are a load of witches who have sex together, and then do magic?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Dora chortled.

“It’s all about raising the levels of the emotional energy which fuels most magic spells,” Hermione explained, “And the bonds of affection also make it easier for the Coven to focus on a single spell as a group.” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, “I’m getting how that could work. It’s sort of how you and me... how our patronuses were so powerful. And why we, er... the, erm... our accidental sex magic outbursts. It all works more or less the same way, right?”

Hermione nodded and was about agree when Luna chimed in.

“Oh, of course! That makes perfect sense - maybe we could all do Patronuses like that if we had a go at this,” she said eagerly.

Harry’s jaw dropped in shock. “You’re joking! You can’t be bloody serious, Luna!”

“Why not?”

“Wh-what?” Harry sputtered. “I’ve got a girlfriend - you’ve got a girlfriend!” 

Ginny was groaning now, hiding her own fiery red face behind both of her hands, and Dora had fallen into a fit of giggles. Hermione was trying to hide a smirk and Parvati was shaking her head and giggling with embarrassment.

“So?” said Luna. “We’d all be in on it together. It’s not like we would be cheating.”

“So... No way!” Harry moaned. “I’m really sorry, Luna. There’s just no way! Besides - it’s just for witches, right?” 

“Well, _**some**_ wizards can join in if all the witches accept them and they have the right sort of soul,” said Luna, looking very disappointed. “And judging by your eyes, Harry, I think you have the perfect sort of soul to be in a Coven. ... I sort of guessed you’d say no though, but I had to try.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did,” said Harry, sighing with relief, glad that Luna was dropping it. 

Then Harry let out a wry little chuckle and shook his head, finally seeing the humour in it all. And at the moment a bit of humour was exactly what he needed given that his worst fears had been confirmed by the title of the new Ministry pamphlet: _Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society._


End file.
